Wish
by Mirrored In My Mind
Summary: On Vulcan, Spock wishes on a star at his mother's insistence. On Earth, Jim's family is murdered. Someone is after him, and all he wants is to get away. Fate, or the power of a wish, brings these two together. AU, very eventual K/S
1. one

_Dear Mr. Kirk-_

James T. Kirk crumpled up the piece of paper, tossing it over one shoulder. "Too formal," he grumbled, rubbing one tired eye and grabbing another piece from the stack on the desk he was sitting at. "This is to me, not to Dad."

In the adjacent room, a low creak sounded, startling Jim, who jerked and cursed as the writing utensil left an ugly black mark down the side of the paper. He shot an acidic glare at the wall where, separated by old-fashioned plaster and wood, his brother Sam lay. Silence once more settled over the young boy, working furiously to complete the English final that would determine if he would pass or fail the fifth grade.

_Dear Future Me-_

That seemed decent enough. The assignment was due in - Jim checked the chrono nearby - four hours. The whole assignment irritated Jim to no end, not only because he hated the subject, but why did it matter? If he wanted to know what he was like when he was a kid, he'd remember. It wasn't that hard, honestly, but he didn't want his mom to freak out because he managed to screw up again.

_We're supposed to write to ourselves, for whatever reason stupid Mrs. Higgins wants us too. I think it's ridiculous; maybe you will too when you read it in, like, fifty years or whatever._

_Since you're me, it's a waste of time talking much about myself. I know how I look. I know how I think. But we need a couple of decent-sized paragraphs, so I'm gonna write about how life is._

_I live with Mom and Sam. 'Cept he's going on some kind of naming thing and wants to be called George now, like Dad. I don't like it - he's Sam, not Dad. Dad's dead. Been dead. Gonna stay that way, too. So it's a bit tense in the house._

_Mom brought home some asshole to move in again. His name's Frank. He's the biggest fuckwad this place's ever seen. Not even that rich guy was as crappy as Frank. He's always strutting around, pointing out Dad's stuff, how he's so much better. I punched him in the crotch, and now every time he sees me, he gets all purple and sweaty. I know he wants to knock my lights out again, but he doesn't dare. Mom won't let him in on the deed. So suck it!_

He paused to reread what he'd put down so far when another groan of metal springs reached his ears. Hunching his shoulders, he let out a breath and decided that it was Sam, or George, or whoever the hell he was today, getting up to get some water or something. What his brother did wasn't his business... and the fact Sam would bust him for staying up wasn't a factor in ignoring the noise at all. So he told himself.

_Everyone knows what they want to do. And all anyone wants to do is be in Starfleet. Well, I can safely say that'll never happen. Ever! I mean, space, the stars... meeting new people, exploring new worlds... it's cool, but I don't want to do it. Starfleet's the reason I don't have a dad. One that I like, anyway, not some jackass who wants the land. Starfleet's the reason Mom can't look at me for me. So I'm never joining up. Let those dummies go ahead and waste themselves. I could care less._

_Maybe I'll be able to do something else. I'm pretty smart, duh, but I don't dare act like it, or else Andy will tell all the pretty chicks (the really pretty ones, all the other ones are bubble-brains) I'm a nerd and collect comic-holos and stuff. But math is interesting when I don't have to play stupid._

He smirked and was about to add a final statement when a third creak resounded through the house, this one right outside his bedroom. Jim froze, eyes going wide as irrational thoughts of monsters swirled around in his sleep-deprived brain. He shoved the chair away from the desk with a muted screech, standing in front of the window as his knees began to tremble. What if it was a robber? Not that there was anything to steal, really, but it was a possibility.

The doorknob, practically a relic in the advanced world today but commonplace in the Kirk home, gave a jerk and turned slowly. Tension seeped into Kirk's frame as every muscle in his body went taut. He held his fists up, gritting his teeth as he made his decision. Whoever this person was, they were going down.

There was no sound, no movement save for the stirring of curtains in an early morning breeze. Just as Jim was beginning to think it was all a dream the door was thrown open, slamming into the wall with the sound of a period gun going off. Jim let out a furious yell and charged, eyes closed, ramming into the intruder's knees and taking him down.

The momentum of the blow carried them back into the hall, the being landing on his back as Jim lashed out. Quick glimpses in the light from the stars revealed a pale face, black markings and harshly pointed ears, along with dark, unreadable eyes. Jim raked his nails down the being's face and was rewarded with a strike to his head, leaving him dazed and seeing stars. It was simple for the attacker to flip him onto his stomach, grab hold of his arms and plant his knee in Jim's back, effictively holding him immobile.

Whoever it was brought their head down so they could speak in Jim's ear. "You are James Tiberius Kirk."

It was not a question, but a statement, as if this person - being, alien, whatever - knew with all certainty that they were correct.

Breathing raggedly, Jim flipped his head up and made sharp contact with the figure's chin, eliciting a hissed curse. "Yeah," he said, panting. "So what?" It did not escape him that this person knew him, knew who he was and knew his name. It frightened him, but he was not one to run when fear reared its head.

"Come with me." The being pulled Jim up and over one shoulder with the ease of someone who had done that many times. Jim screamed, loud enough to shatter eardrums, pounding his fists on the person's back, barely causing him to stagger before he took a step forward, heading for the open door which Jim could see just down the hall.

"Like hell, you stupid fucker!" Kirk shouted, and sank his teeth into the being's back. He dropped to one knee, one hand clamping down to keep Jim from moving as the other probed the wound, fingers coming back doused in dark liquid. Barind his teeth, he twisted his hand in Jim's shirt and threw him to the ground, locking his grip around Jim's neck, watching as the boy's eyes rolled and his mouth opened and closed in panic.

"Nero's orders be damned," he growled, lips twisting into a wry mockery of a grin. Once again, however, he underestimated the tenacity of the child he was close to killing and couldn't hold in his howl of pain as Jim lunged forward and latched onto his arm with his teeth. Pain flashed through him and, unthinking, he batted Jim off, not watching as Jim siezed the opportunity and scrambled into his room.

Breathing hard, arms trembling, Jim stumbled over to his dresser, yanking open one drawer and pawing through its contents. When he'd located the object of his search, he swallowed and winced as his throat burned. In his hands was a small knife; Standard issue for basic self-defense. His mother had given one to Jim and his brother with a stern talk about responsibility and knowing when to use it. Jim figured now was a really good time.

Behind him, the being stood in the doorway, eyes maddened by pain and rage. Jim stood, hand clenched around the knife, holding it out of sight so the man - he guessed - wouldn't see. The person whipped off the thin black cloak he'd been wearing, letting it drop to his feet as the two stared each other down.

He moved, and Jim moved, lunging at one another, arms outstretched. Hands closed around Jim's throat, bringing him close to the pale, marked face and squeezing with such intensity that Jim actually blacked out for a spare moment. Then, before he had consciously registered the action, Jim swung his arm up and around and had buried the knife in the being's neck. Eyes wide, the person let go, clamping his hands around the wound as he yanked the blade out and let it clatter to the floor. It was obvious it was too late: dark blood streamed down his body, shining in the starlight and pooling around his feet.

Jim could only watch in silent horror as the being met his eyes one final time before collapsing with a boneless thud that Jim thought would echo in his brain forever. He bolted, feeling bile rise in his throat, darting down the hall and into his brother's room, shutting the door forcefully and sliding down to bury his head in his knees.

He hadn't intended to do that. Maybe scare him, yeah, but kill him? And he knew that was what had happened. No one could bleed that much and survive; it was impossible. "Sam," Jim croaked, sniffling and wiping his face. "We've gotta get out of here. Go get Mom, I'm gonna go find the keys and we'll-"

The words caught in his throat, and he swallowed. "Sam?" he whispered. Crawling foward, feeling alien blood chill on his arm from moments ago, he used the bed frame to pull himself up, standing stiff over Sam, who lay peacefully in a pool of his own blood, throat slit. Jim knelt, laying his head on his brother's chest, weeping. It wasn't fair! The alien was after him!

"Okay," Jim murmured, clenching the bloodied sheets in both hands. "Gotta calm down." He hiccupped, coughing quietly, and rose, bending over one last time to kiss Sam on the cheek. "Bye, Sam." Steeling himself, he turned and walked out, keeping his eyes away from the place they were most drawn: a glimmering puddle of blood, blotched out by a body growing cool.

A lead weight settled into his stomach and he crept into his mother's room, barely staying for a moment as the image burned itself into his mind's eye: Winona Kirk, eyes bulging and neck adorned with a necklace of dark bruises. The cold part of his mind decided the being had gotten to her first, realized that strangulation was too messy, and had moved on to murder his brother in a more quiet way. He backed away from the bed, feeling behind him for the door. He slipped out, shaking his head as if he could let the memories fly out, like water droplets.

The being attacked his family to get him. If there were more, they would go after his friends, his school... he wasn't a fan, but that didn't mean he wanted all his teachers to die, even the ones who were assholes.

The only thing to do was to get away.

He stumbled into the kitchen, mind playing the images of his mom and brother to him on a loop - _blink, Sam dead, blink, Mom dead, over and over_ - and he hardly registered as he stood on tiptoe to reach to the windowsill over the sink, something hard and rugged biting into his palm. With one last glance at the interior of the only home he had ever known, he made his way out to the back door, letting it close with a bang as he floated over to the object taking up most of their driveway, under a protective layer of plexi-plastic.

It was like he was living in a dream. Everything seemed to have acquired a misty quality to it that might have had something to do with the tears streaming thickly down his face. He pulled the lightweight cover off, unlocked the cherry red Corvette, and hopped in, stabbing the key into the ignition and roaring out of there with a whiff of shiner and exhaust. Had it only been hours ago he'd scrubbed the thing because Frank had ordered him? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

The rumble of the engine and the soothing monotony of the landscape seeped into Jim's frame and, uncaring, he put his head down on the steering wheel, closing his eyes. At this point, it would almost be a relief...

Everything he'd known was gone. His family (_Frank, though, another story_, his mind whispered), his life. Even his home was tainted. Gone, all of it, blown away in the wind like so much dust.

And he'd taken a life.

Sudden realization clenched around his insides like a ruthless iron grip and he slammed on the brake, not even flinching as the car fish-tailed left and right, unable to stop properly on the gravel road.

He couldn't use his father's car. Not something so... good. He could hear Mom whispering secret stories about his father, and the day she'd met him, driving up in the old 'Vette, flashing her a daring grin and beckoning her to join him. He didn't deserve to touch something so sacred to her.

Once the car had come to a complete stop, somewhere in the middle of nowhere - _his mother, joking about how they lived in the middle of nowhere, and how everyone else did too _- surrounded on both sides by fields of some crop essential to feeding the world, Jim clambered out, taking the key and throwing it deep into the swaying stalks. He frowned darkly at the vehicle, feeling the old resentment well up. George Kirk, Starfleet captain, everything in this world Jim never wanted to be and an obstacle dogging him every step of the way, even as he fled for his life.

So Jim Kirk, alone, dirty, mourning, covered in blood that was not his, trudged down the road, fighting with every step to secure himself before he allowed himself to cry. He had to keep moving, work under the pressure. A glint of steel flashed in his eyes.

Someone wanted him, huh? They'd have to find him first.

* * *

"Hold still, Spock," Amanda insisted, attempting once again to daub at the split lip he'd received.

"That will not be necessary," the boy insisted, grabbing his mother's wrist firmly. "It will heal on its own. No amount of water will speed up the process."

Amanda gazed down at her son fondly, and, at his further look, set the cloth down. "I'm sorry, Spock," she said quietly. "I'm just being a mom. It's what we do."

"I do not understand. 'Mothering' is an offshoot of the human emotion love. I am Vulcan." He seemed to place emphasis on the last three words, as if he was trying to convince himself of that statement as well as his mother.

She simply smiled, instead turning her head to the open window. She was sitting with her son in his room, trying to get some kind of understanding or explanation out of him. Unfortunately, Spock had inherited the tight-lipped tendencies of her Sarek, and had not said anything beyond that 'he had engaged in an altercation and received various superficial injuries'. Obviously.

"Look, Spock, the stars are coming out," she said, delight coloring her warm tones.

"I am no longer a child, Mother, nor am I incapable of seeing."

Which was his was of saying, essentially, duh.

"When I was a little girl, we always stayed up for the first stars to come out, and we'd make a wish on them." Amanda closed her eyes, murmuring, "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight."

"I highly doubt reciting such a simplistic poem while focusing on a ball of burning gases will help in any ventures you require assistance in." Spock kept his voice level, but in the way of mothers, Amanda knew he was curious. He just didn't want to show it, not even around her.

"Well, why don't you give it a try?" she prompted, folding her hands in her lap. "It can't hurt, you know. No one will know." She tapped his nose, but only briefly: enough to get the point across, but not enough to annoy him. He did respect her personal space, after all.

Spock ducked his head. "It is highly illogical, Mother."

"Sometimes life is," Amanda retorted. "Don't tell me what you wish for. It has to be a secret, or else it won't work."

The young half-Vulcan nodded dutifully, reciting the poem in a soft, but rushed, voice. He did not want anyone overhearing him, especially his father, who he could imagine would highly disapprove of this kind of human behavior.

_I wish... for a companion. Any being who will not tease me for my differences, who will accept me for who I am. A friend._

Spock let out a breath slowly. He felt foolish for taking part in this ritual of his mother's, but at the same time it was another tie that bound them closer together.

"I require rest, Mother."

She nodded, giving him another secret smile. "Alright. Good night, Spock." She stood, brushing the wrinkles out of her clothes, and pressed a gentle, brief kiss on the top of his head. "Maybe your wish will come true."

With that, she strode towards the door and shut it quietly behind her. Spock positioned himself on the bed, ready to descend into slumber, ignoring the slight throbbing from his lip and bruised cheek. Pain was something easy to shut out. Longing was not.

"Father will be arriving tomorrow," he said aloud. "He will bring his reports to the Council, about the star-ship to be constructed on Earth. He left quite abruptly after the incident this afternoon. It will be a concise meeting."

He cut himself off. With no one to converse with, speaking alone was nothing more than a waste of energy. He needed to cease these habits he had picked up from his mother. His human mother. _I am Vulcan. I am Vulcan._

_I am eleven, and I am Vulcan. I hope._

---

**Note:** First chapter. Might not continue, depends on how y'all like it. First serious foray into ST:'09 besides a one-shot, so don't maim me for anything. Leave a review if you're feeling kind. I certainly appreciate any efforts you guys put out.

I don't own it, don't sue. Please.

I've got a very basic kind of plot, but if you suggest something within reason, I might be able to squeeze it in. I don't mind.

Lastly, all my ST knowledge is the new movie and some OS episodes. Anything else, I get off the wiki. Don't kill me! -cowers-

**Edit 10-11-09 for minor descriptive stuff.**


	2. two

"They were simple orders... were they not?"

The crew of the _Narada _stood painfully still, acutely aware that their captain was currently looking for a scapegoat to kill. Nero paced up and down the line of bodies, hands clasped behind his back, the black markings on his face standing out in stark relief in the pale light. His dark eyes flicked from face to face, drinking in their fear and sneering at their cowardice.

"Sir, yes. Sir."

Nero whirled on the young man who had spoken, unfolding his staff and spearing it through the man's chest. The rest of the crew watched unflinchingly as the poor fellow dropped to the deck, green blood spreading in a growing pool around him.

"I did not give you permission to speak, Ensign," Nero said silkily. He nodded to the two on either side of the fallen person. "Take him to sickbay. Make sure he is fit to report to Beta shift or you will join him in the airlock."

They nodded quickly, thankful that they would not be bearing the majority of Nero's anger and eager to keep it that way. Kneeling down, they looped one arm over each shoulder and proceeded to haul the barely breathing body between them down to the lower levels of the ship.

"Well, now," the captain said softly, his dark eyes scanning his subordinates, looking for any signs of weakness. He had plans, plans to get his revenge on _Spock_ and his precious _Federation_, but the first step was taking far too long for his preferences. "Permission to speak freely."

"Sir!" One man stepped forward, his frame jerking and twitching in fear. The moods of the captain could shift radically: anger, to sadness, to being downright friendly. This, obviously, was not one of those days. "Lieutenant Tona has not returned. I volunteer my services to retrieve the Kirk boy."

Nero let his head roll back, staring at the boy through half-lidded eyes. "Oh?" He took a sudden step forward, startling the young one. "And why would that be?"

"I wish to make up for my brother's failure. I will bring you Kirk."

"Are you so sure?" Nero said, one arm reaching out with lightning speeds to grab the boy's chin. He forced his head left, then right, taking stock of the customary mourning marks that had been inscribed on every face of his crew. These were especially intricate: he had not heard from his brother and he was assumed dead. And rightfully so. Using one of the several ships they had stolen, it had taken barely a day to arrive at Earth. If he had gotten Kirk, he would have transmitted his success immediately.

"I would swear it on Romulus."

Nero inched back, surprise whirling through his mind, but careful control kept it off his face. "That is an oath you are prepared to take?"

The boy inclined his head. "He... Tona was my only family left alive. I will get Kirk or die trying. So I swear on Romulus."

Nero nodded. "Lieutenant Tena, take the _Lucky in Love_-" _such ridiculous names these humans give these ships,_ Nero thought privately "-and I expect Kirk brought back... relatively unharmed. Alive."

The young Tena, relieved immensely that his advances would not be rejected, set off to the cargo hold at a brisk pace, stopping only to assign a worker in his stead. Nero watched him leave, a thoughtful look replacing the blank face he had put on for this purpose. His meeting finished, he dismissed the rest of the crew members to continue on with their work. Only his second-in-command remained behind.

"Are you sure that is wise?" Ayel said after a moments thought. "Tena is willful, and if anything, Kirk might have killed his brother. He may not be able to restrain himself."

Nero waved a hand. "If anything, Kirk will kill him as well. I have no use for someone obsessed with their schedules over our own."

Ayel's brows rose, but he said nothing. "Assuming you do get the human child, what do you plan to do with him?"

"Keep him here. And when _Spock_ shows up, I will slit his precious _t'hy'la_'s throat in front of his eyes." Nero gave a wry smile, as if he were sharing a joke instead of discussing murder. "The same way he forced us to watch our loved ones perish, unable and helpless to do anything." With a twitch of his fingers, he called up the holo of the _Jellyfish_, the stern rotating in its peculiar way. Baring his teeth, Nero swatted at it, scattering the flickers of light everywhere.

"As you wish, Captain," Ayel said, bowing his head. "I will send a message down to Tena to take the necessary precautions as well."

Nero nodded, strolling leisurely over to his command chair. He sat down on the edge, mind abuzz with thoughts and half-formed plans, the things he could do if he so chose. "We wouldn't want Starfleet to suspect the Romulans of anything. We, after all, operate separately from them. A private exile. One we may only return from when our deeds have been completed."

Ayel could see his captain descending once more into thoughts of his losses and respectfully left him alone, returning to watching the sensors. He was currently running the calculations for when that blasted half-Vulcan would show up, and where, and while they were making great progress, it was not guaranteed to be entirely accurate.

"Perhaps I will send an Ensign to deliver the news," he mused aloud at his station, which was, thankfully, rather far away from the captain's chair.

"Sir?" Ayel turned, looking with barely concealed impatience at the interruption.

"What is it?" he snapped.

"Lieutenant Tena has taken the hypo, sir. If he is to die, his body will degenerate four hundred percent faster than normal, sir."

"I knew that already," Ayel snarled. "Out of my sight before I have you martialled!"

With a shaky whimper, the man departed. Ayel smirked, turning back to face his screen. _Still have a fear of a court martial, though we have no judge or jury. How pathetic._

The console beeped merrily, its job finished for the moment. The results were more optimistic than he himself had projected. So, with a heavy sigh, Ayel levered himself to his feet and went to deliver the news.

* * *

Jim Kirk did not remember the walk. It was a numb time, where all he could think about was putting one foot down, then the other, plodding forward with nothing but the clothes on his back and the road ahead of him. And even then, all he could bear to keep on was his pants. His shirt, soaked through with alien blood that dried to a level of itchiness he had never experienced, was abandoned somewhere far behind him. The early morning chill was ignored, as were the goosebumps that stood along his arms like the peaks of tiny mountains. There was one point when he realized there were no more stalks of corn around, and wondered about his current location, but it floated away like a wisp of morning fog and he let it go.

Jim Kirk did, however, remember the shuttle. To his eyes, it looked like the perfect mechanism for escape. A grin, empty of emotion, stretched across his face. Far off, he could see a few figures discussing something, moving their hands about in the odd gesticulation of emphasis.

It wasn't very big; just a transport between the real ships. Like the kind his father had captained, the one his mother escaped from, had birthed him on, though that was one of the medical variety. Jim winced as a memory flashed behind his eyelids. Shaking it away, telling himself now was not the time to panic, he called up his reserves of energy and put on a burst of speed, almost crying in relief as his fingers made contact with the cold hull. He peered around the end, eyes widening as the figures - only two, he could see - began making their way back.

Jim slipped in the open door, searching almost desperately for a place to hide. The transport shuttle was bare, save for the pilot's controls and the seats for the passengers. He could hear the voices approaching the shuttle. Throat constricting, Jim made for the back, feet padding silently on the thinly carpeted floor. At the very rear was a storage compartment, left slightly ajar, and before he could debate the merits of locking himself in for who knew how long he dived in, leaving it open just a sliver so he could barely make out the people arriving. Their discussion made little sense to him but he was not one to care.

"Do you believe any accidents occurring is probable?"

"Well, Master Sarek, we can't exactly plan for it, but that's why it's out here. Away from the central hubs of activity, no crops within a mile radius, and any accidents that happen can be contained quickly and efficiently."

Kirk felt his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed nervously. The shuttle gave a jerk as it lifted off the ground, slamming Jim's head into the paneling behind him. He bit down hard on his tongue, trying to stifle the croak of pain that wanted to bubble up behind his lips. He might have said something; he couldn't really tell for the spots dancing in front of his eyes.

The conversation had gone oddly silent. Jim chalked it up to boredom and settled himself into a more comfortable position for the journey. Something kept poking him in the back, however, and he was just twisting around to grab it when the door snapped open and light flooded in. Jim toppled forward with a startled shout, one hand on whatever had been bothering him and one hand held out to break his fall.

"I do not tolerate stowaways on my shuttlecraft, young one," the first voice said. It was lacking the normal inflections of annoyance that he'd hear in other circumstances. Jim, seeing no other option, whipped out the object and held it aloft hoping it was some kind of tool he could use as a weapon if need be, willing his arms to stop shaking. Shaking arms didn't make the picture of a confident ship thief.

"Hands up!" Jim said, keeping his eyes fastened on the floor. "I - I know how to use this thing!"

Now his legs were beginning to tremble as well. _No! I can't stop now. If I stop... I'll never get going again... oh god, Mom, Sam..._

Jim sank to his knees, lowering the item to his lap as he, in a rare display for a masculine ten year old such as Jim Kirk, burst into tears.

Gentle hands wrapped around his wrists, radiating heat. Jim hardly noticed as the warm fingers gently removed the object - which he saw to be a phaser through eyes blurred by tears - and gave him a nudge in the direction of a seat. He managed to stumble over without too much help but collapsed onto the rigid plastic as if he were sitting down for the first time in years.

One replicated glass of water and a lot of tissues later, Jim was sitting quietly as the two discussed in low tones what to do with him.

"He's human, it's obvious to assume he comes from around the area we were looking at for the ship to be built. We need to take him back and find his parents or guardians."

The first voice, still calm and foreign-sounding, said, "Perhaps it would be prudent to understand why he is not with his family now."

Jim didn't look up from his lap as the two sets of footsteps approached. It was only when a warm hand tipped his face up did he focus on something. And, unfortunately for him, it was the ears.

They were the same sharply pointed type as the man who had attacked him. Jim lashed out instantly, his hands balled into fists. Instead of making contact, however, the being stopped it with that same calm look on his face. Jim began thrashing around wildly, but it took little effort for the pair to latch onto his flailing limbs and get him to be still once more. That, combined with the fact that he was almost unconscious from exhaustion, made him easy to subdue.

"What is your name?"

"I'm not telling you!" he shouted. "'Sides, your buddy already knew it, so leave me the hell alone!"

"There is no need to raise your voice. I am Sarek. I do not know this 'buddy' you are referring to. This man-" he turned his head a small amount and nodded fractionally at the human on his right "-is human. He is Commander Pike."

"My name is James Tiberius Kirk!" He mustered his remaining energy up and sent a poisonous glare towards the pointy-eared one named Sarek.

The human looked at him intently, and relaxed fractionally. "Hey, hey," he said soothingly. "It's alright. He's just a Vulcan, he's not gonna hurt you. I knew your dad. Good friend of mine."

Jim looked at him suspiciously, feeling the resentment boil up within. "Yeah, so you knew my dad. So what? He's dead. He's always been dead, and he's always gonna be dead, so stop fucking talking about him, alright?!"

"So vulgar," Sarek said. "I believed such language was inappropriate for children to use."

"It is," Pike assured, sending the boy a stern look, to which he received a half-hearted flipped bird. He frowned. "You are so different than your father..."

"Damn straight," Jim growled. "Now look at me like I'm me, not like I'm him. Happy?" His eyes darkened with old shadows and Pike wisely let the subject drop, though he couldn't help but compare this dirty child with the charismatic man he'd come to enjoy working with.

"What are the circumstances that have led you to attempting to hijack this craft?" Sarek interrupted. This seemed to wrench Jim back out of his defensive actions, causing his mouth to snap shut and his body to begin shaking. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he tried to hold himself tall for the sake of the two adults. The last thing he wanted to do was appear weak in front of them, though he conveniently omitted the failure of a takeover he'd instigated and how he'd just finished crying over his situation.

"It was- this guy- and Mom- and Sam- and then I-" His throat constricted and he couldn't speak. Two fat tears dribbled down his cheeks, cutting a path through the grime.

"This is an emotional reaction stemming from the death of your mother and brother?" Sarek asked, raising one eyebrow. "Highly illogical, but coming from an adolescent human, not unusual."

"Shut up, you stupid pointy-eared bastard!" Kirk cried. "You look just like the asshole who did it!"

Further conversation was halted when, though Pike was curious about the particulars, the shuttle rocked again. He stood, unfolding himself from Jim's side where he'd been kneeling, to check the helm. "Autopilot's been activated for the leg to your home. We are en route to Vulcan, in the bay of the _Farragut_."

Jim gave a weak smile of relief. "Can I... please let me stay!" he finished in a rush. "I promise I'll be good! I'll make my bed, and do my chores, and I'll turn in my homework on time, I promise!"

If he had been so inclined, Sarek would have patted him reassuringly on the back and attempted to make him feel better by giving false hope. As it was, he went with the truth. "I highly doubt the High Council would let a human boy stay on Vulcan."

"Please! You don't understand! They killed my mom. That guy- with the pointy ears, like you, I can't remember his species, I shoulda paid more attention in class!" Jim stopped to mentally kick himself. If he'd known he was going to need to know the various species of the universe to solve a murder mystery, he'd have paid more attention to the lessons on Federation History. "He knew my name, he's gonna get reinforcements and try and get me too!"

"Have you not considered the possibilities that it was simply a common burgular?" Sarek said.

"Well, I would have, but they'd just take the stuff and run. This guy only tried to kidnap me!" Jim said sarcastically, his old defiance shining through. But the fate of that man struck him with the suddenness of a transporter beam and he was on his feet, the Vulcan startled into releasing him by his sudden movement.

"Where's the bathroom?" Jim said desperately. "I need to wash my hands!" He took a shaky step forward, then collapsed, eyes rolling up into his head as he dropped to the ground, unmoving.

Sarek blinked. Pike blinked. Jim didn't stir.

"He must be really worn out," Pike said after a moment. "Could it hurt to have Amanda take care of him for a bit? Rest him up, then send him off?"

"I... do not see the logic in that sentiment. But it is not in my nature to allow a young boy in his condition - mentally unstable, at the very least - to go alone." With that, Sarek rose fluidly to his feet, took a step forward, and picked up the unconscious child in his arms, pulling out and laying him on a berth normally used for medical emergencies.

"Commander Pike, what is our estimated time of arrival to my home?" he called.

"About ten minutes, sir. _Farragut_'s been at top warp speed; they knew you didn't want to waste any time. Shuttle take-off commencing." The shuttle rocked again, moving on impulse power to exit the bay at the fastest speeds the little craft was capable of. Sarek continued to stare at the smooth, emotionless face of the young James Kirk, which, for some reason, brought his thoughts back to his own son. He sincerely - as sincerely as he was capable of portraying, at least - believed his offspring could take to the rigorous emotional discipline of Vulcan nature, but without a senior Vulcan to guide him, it was a moot point, which made his urgency all the more necessary.

Sarek gave himself a mental shake. Losing himself at a crucial time was illogical. He needed to meditate. Perhaps, when he arrived home, it would be a good lesson to start with for Spock.

"Touching down now, sir," Pike reported. Sarek nodded distractedly. Humans were so fragile, he reflected. Any trauma caused a mental breakdown, or bodily injury. It made little sense to rush headlong into something that had every possibility of leaving you a prisoner in your own body. But, he amended, in some, it was an attractive quality. His Amanda, for instance...

"Father."

Sarek turned, beholding his son. Spock looked well-rested, a curious look on his face. _That will be something to work on, at the very least. He is too used to showing small emotions when there are few people around. I, as well, must endeavor to think less deeply. I was not aware we had touched down at all, or that Commander Pike had opened the door to allow me to disembark._ "Spock. Was your time without me productive?"

"Yes. I have begun research into various Vulcan rituals for controlling my emotions. Altercations such as the event that happened yesterday will no longer be a problem."

"That is acceptable." Sarek gently picked the limp form of Jim up, taking a deep breath. This was to be a large shock to his son, and with his already fragile emotions under stress... the elder Vulcan was not sure if he was willing to risk another mental breakdown on his son's part. "I have brought a guest."

"Father? I do not understand." Spock took a hesitant step forward, his eyes widening slightly as he absorbed the entirety of the situation. "He is human."

"He is injured. Amanda will tend to him as he recovers. I request you keep your interactions to an absolute minimum, Spock." With that, Sarek strode out of the shuttle, leaving Pike to retract the ramp and take off with a blast of sand and dust.

The familiar red cliffs and dry heat were a welcome respite from the green and coolness that seemed so common on Earth. Sarek threaded through his home, running over several possible sleeping units he could put this boy in. He would not put Kirk in Spock's room, nor in his and Amanda's. But they did not have a guest bedroom, for it was only logical to acquire a home with the correct number of required facilities. To have more was to be wasteful.

Sarek settled for placing the still form of Kirk onto the floor of the family room, carefully depositing him on the ceremonial rug that adorned it. "And who is this stray you've brought in, love?"

He turned, feeling his heart beat just a little faster as he beheld his wife. One of two beings he could feel any emotion for, the other being his son. "His name is James Kirk. He stowed away on the shuttle and succumbed to unconsciousness during the transport from orbit to the planet's surface."

"Ah. Shouldn't he perhaps go to jail? Or something?" She knelt down next to him and took stock of his condition, pressing a hand to his forehead and checking him for injuries. "He's got a bit of a fever, but that could be from any illness. Very battered. Several bruises." She looked up at Sarek, an amused smile playing along her lips. "What do we do when he wakes up?"

"I... was planning to refer to your expertise in this matter," Sarek admitted stiffly.

"Well, shoo, then. I've got a kid to take care of along with this James Kirk," she said, standing and planted a gentle kiss on his lips before laying a hand on his back and not-too-gently pushing him out of the room.

Silence reigned for a minute when Amanda said quietly, "If you want to come in, Spock, there's no need to hide."

The young boy stepped forward, his posture as stiff as her husband's words had been. "Father does not want me interacting with him. I can only conclude he believes a human will be detrimental to my efforts toward emotional control."

Amanda flapped a hand absently as she shuffled around the room, looking for a blanket. "Sometimes, dear, your father doesn't see past his own shortcomings as he raises you." Spock pulled his hands out from behind his back and held the bundle of folded fabric out. His mother smiled and thanked him, pulling it out and laying it across the thin boy. It rose and fell with his chest as Jim breathed evenly.

"There's not much else to do," Amanda said, giving Spock a fond pat on the back. "It's almost time for bed. Go get ready and I'll tuck you in, alright?"

"I will no longer require such a sentimental action, Mother," Spock insisted, but obeyed anyway.

The family bustled to and fro, continuing on with their daily life as if they didn't have an unconscious human boy currently dead to the world in the living room. After even the adults had gone to bed, when the stars shone freely and dawn was far in the future, Spock had his first opportunity to meet with the stranger.

"NO! MOM! SAM!" The shout echoed throughout the home and Spock jolted awake, looking around, panic settling into a hard ball in his stomach. After a moment, though, he took a calming breath, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Curiosity replaced the fear and Spock, in his night-clothes and half-awake, crept out of his room to investigate.

What he found surprised him. The human boy, James Kirk, was standing at the window, chest slick with sweat and pumping up and down like the bellows in a forge. Illuminated by the moonlight, Spock could see the tense way he held himself, as if he were preparing for an attack. _Fight or flight. Fascinating._

"Is... Are you well?"

Jim whirled around, fists up. His face glimmered wetly in the faint light from the stars. "What do you care?" he snapped bitterly.

Spock tilted his head, blinking in confusion. "I was merely making sure-"

"Well, I don't need your help, alright? Just... just tell me where the hell I am, or I'll knock your lights out!" Jim took a step closer to Spock, fists held aloft. "I'm not afraid of you."

"I don't see why you would be," Spock said slowly. "While it has been shown we resemble the human devil, few actually believe that. I would not expect you to be afraid."

There was quiet.

"So... Vulcan, huh? Was that your dad?"

"Dad?"

"Father, spawner, I dunno what you guys call 'em." Jim shrugged.

"He is my father, yes."

Jim tapped a finger on his chin. "So..."

"So what?"

"When am I getting off this dust ball? I've got a guy on my ass for who knows what. I need to keep moving. Be a traveler kind of thing." Jim's chest puffed out, as if he was proud of his decision.

"That is not very intelligent. You have little education, you would be useless for most ventures, and as a human, there is the possibility of discrimination. Why would you do something so illogical?" Spock was a little confused. This boy was talking himself in circles, sounding like he had a plan but showing that he knew very little. It was rather confusing.

"You sure ask a lot of questions. Are you stupid or something?" Jim said snidely instead.

"No. Vulcans are more intelligent than humans. Stronger, as well, by a factor of at least three."

"Oh, so now you're insulting me? You shouldn't mess with people. All it's gonna get you is a fist in your face."

"You continue to fall back on your ability to fight. There is little chance that you could actually beat me. As I said before, I am far stronger than you." Spock crossed his arms over his chest, confident that Jim wouldn't have a comeback and that he had won the discussion.

"Wanna bet?"

That was all the warning he got before Jim had leaped, fists out, lashing at the boy with all the pent up anger he hadn't allowed himself to feel over the past day. Spock retaliated only in defense: he managed to duck the sloppy swing and plant an elbow in the boy's gut, but Kirk brought his clasped hands down on Spock's head, making stars burst in his vision and pain throb around the crown of his head.

They separated, Kirk doubled over wheezing, Spock on his knees, squeezing his head to make the pain cease.

"Okay," Kirk muttered. "You're pretty good, I'll give you that. But watch out." He looked up, making eye contact, and Spock saw an ocean of turmoil in those startling blue eyes: anger, fear, pain, heartbreak. So many emotions contained, carefully held in control so Kirk didn't break down and weep and pound his fists at the cruelty of the world.

Spock's respect went up a notch. But only one.

"I am returning to my quarters. Be aware: this is my home. Do not mess with me." With that, Spock left, wobbling slightly as he made his way back to his room, wondering if he should look over his shoulder to see if Kirk was planning a surprise attack. He wouldn't put it past him, to borrow a phrase from his mother.

This would prove to be an interesting experience, if anything. Spock settled back into bed, closing his eyes.

But that Kirk kid was going to get it. Of that much he was sure.

---

**Note:** Holy shit, guys. I never expected that much of a response. -smiles greatfully- I hope you liked this chapter as much as the last. Let me know if anything's messed up. Give me your opinions!

Don't own, don't sue. If you want, leave a review, I certainly don't mind. Thanks to all you who did last chapter! And put it on faves, or alerts.

Couple of notes: after researching it, Spock's rotate-y ship is really called the _Jellyfish._ I didn't make that up, I swear. Didn't know which ship would be transporting an Ambassador so I picked a random one. Any questions, comments, news, notes, or other needless trivia, leave a review and I'll try to get to it. I'll even send a reply! -le gasp-

Well, see you next time!

**Edit as of 10-11-09 for minor description stuff.**


	3. three

When Spock awoke the next morning, his face contorted in a disgruntled expression before he could stop himself. Once he had realized his error, however, he mentally reprimanded himself. He was so used to allowing himself to show small emotions when no one was around. He would have to stop. It was unbecoming of a Vulcan.

Schooling his expression into one of careful neutrality, he went about with his normal mourning routine, changing into his school clothes and washing his face. That finished, he took a deep breath and went down to scrounge up something for breakfast.

His mother enjoyed cooking, but due to the rather strict dietary requirements of Vulcan, many of her favorite recipes were, simply, out of the question. And even then, they had a standard-issue replicator, making the job nearly obsolete. But on special occasions, he could watch her, fascination written on his face, as she ran back and forth around the kitchen, mixing and spilling and singing old Earth songs. It was a fond memory Spock kept tucked away in a decidedly human part of his mind.

It took him a moment to recall why, exactly, he was not looking forward to this new day. A resounding crash from the living room answered that question and, trying to look like he imagined his father would, he walked serenely from his room to where the human boy had stayed through the night.

Jim was kneeling down next to the shattered remains of a bit of pottery. Anger flared to life within Spock, but he quickly crushed it and instead took a few silent steps forward.

"Oh shit, they're gonna kill me, and I didn't even mean it this time... maybe I could... nah, only child. Um, I could bury it? Or hide it? I dunno," Jim mumbled as he tried to sweep the pieces back together.

"While that vase was an important decorational piece, I do not believe destroying it would result in your death," Spock cut in, folding his arms across his chest.

Jim leaped to his feet, face turning beet red as anger and embarrassment contorted his features. Spock glanced at the large purple bruise on his abdomen, and another glance revealed fading bruises (an ugly yellow color) spattered along his arms. Jim saw where Spock's eyes were and self-consciously wrapped his arms around himself.

"Sorry," he grumbled, not looking the least bit like it. "Do you have a shirt I could borrow?"

"Do you promise not to treat it like that vase?"

Jim blinked. Was that an attempt at humor...? Probably not. "I highly doubt I could treat something of different material than the vase in the same way," he said sarcastically. "And it was an accident. I didn't mean to knock it over."

Spock nodded. He didn't exactly believe Jim, but there was no concrete evidence to dispute what he was saying. So, instead, Spock walked quickly back to his room and retrieved an old school shirt he'd outgrown. Jim appeared to be younger than him, but then again, Spock was under the mean height and weight for his age group. He flicked a bit of dust off the black cloth and returned to Jim studying the pieces of the shattered vase intently.

"Here," Spock said, if not a bit shortly.

Jim nodded tersely and slipped into it. It wrapped around his torso snugly and he seemed to relax slightly.

Spock was silent, his head cocked, watching Jim curiously. Jim only looked around, as if he expected this home to be exactly like his had been. And currently he was looking for a broom.

"Um... what should I do? With this?" Jim nodded to the pile of shards decorated in vibrant reds and browns, much like the landscape outside.

"I will clean it up," Spock said. "In the kitchen there is a disposal unit. Take the largest pieces and throw them away," he instructed, feeling a small bit of pride at how level his voice sounded. That vase was a relic of his father's father. He had every right to be stern, like his mother would have been. But his mother was not Vulcan.

"You're not the boss of me," Jim snapped back, but it was hollow and he did as he was told, not even noticing when he pricked his finger dumping them into the little incinerator.

"You are injured," Spock said, blinking as he tried to get a closer look. Jim tucked his bleeding digit into his mouth and shoved Spock away, almost regretting it when Spock stiffened and took a step back, far out of reach.

"It's nothing," Jim insisted. "Didn't even hurt. Don't need a band-aid or a hypo or anything." He pulled his finger out and pushed it near Spock's face, smirking as the young boy's eyes crossed. "Why, do Vulcans never cut themselves on accident? Jeez, buncha brainiacs who never do anything. How dumb."

Spock's mouth twisted into a frown as he thought of the fight he'd started, and the feeling of unfamiliar blood spattering his face and hands. "I... would not agree with that statement."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I'm starved. Got a replicator around here?"

"What is it you wish to consume? I have little time to show you how to operate this model. I have to leave to go to the educational facility in a few minutes." Spock gestured for Jim to follow him and led the human into the kitchen again, where a sleek box-like shape sat, little buttons on the side flashing occasionally.

Jim opened his mouth to speak when a sudden thought stopped him cold. He remembered a fun morning when he and Sam had gotten chocolate-chip pancakes for no real reason. They'd even gotten a couple of strips of real bacon, not anything from a replicator, and he'd stuffed himself so full he got sick and he'd stayed home from school to be taken care of by his mom.

Who he saw now, neck ringed with black bruises, eyes bulging out, mouth opened in a silent scream for help.

All color drained from his face and slow tremors rocked his frame. Feeling his eyes moisten, but not wanting to lose the silent contest between the two of them for who was a better guy, he whirled around so all Spock could see was his back.

"Uh, never mind," Jim croaked. "I'm not hungry anymore." With a near-silent sniffle, he wiped his nose and eyes and turned back around, hoping his eyes wouldn't get all puffy like they usually did when he cried.

Spock made a note that Jim was especially more emotionally volatile than his mother was, even more so than when the occasional odd flux of hormones made her irrationally irritated at anything that happened to move.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the two as they stood awkwardly in the kitchen of Spock's home. Finally, the young half-Vulcan said, "I must depart for school."

Jim seemed to contemplate this and, in a completely unexpected turn of events, asked with obviously fake cheerfulness, "Can I come with you?"

To say Spock was surprised was like saying Vulcan was a little warm. His mouth dropped open and, as he reprimanded himself again, he closed it shut with a click. "Why would you want to do that?" he asked, flicking his eyes up and down Jim as if he could discern the abrupt personality about-face by locating a physical cause.

"Can't I be curious?" Jim defended himself, scrunching his face up in a way that, on Earth, would have sent any female teachers into mild heart palpitations as they rushed to make him happy once more. It did not have quite the same effect on the boy in front of him.

"Absolutely not," Spock said rather harshly, glaring at Jim. "You would only create distractions from the learning efforts of the student body. And if there were any learning bowls open, I highly doubt you would be able to keep up anyways. The material is quite advanced."

A glint of steel entered the blue of Jim's eyes. The challenge had been set. "I bet I could!" Jim not-quite shouted, planting his hands on his hips. "I'll show you, you stupid ass!"

With that, not even knowing where he was headed, Jim stomped out to the nearest door, throwing it open and taking a step outside. Spock could only watch in slight amusement as he came right back in, chest heaving up and down.

"Holy _shit_ it's hot out there!"

Spock raised his eyebrows in polite confusion. "The temperature is quite within normal bounds, James Kirk." Of course, with his human mother (who had been kind enough to tell her son the guest's name as she bade him good night), the temperature inside the house was more acquainted for that of a rather warm Earth day; not low enough to make Sarek or Spock uncomfortable, but cool enough to allow Amanda a place to go during the midday heat.

"It's just Kirk," Jim snapped, wiping his forehead off with his already much-abused sleeve. Only his friends could call him Jim. "And... I'm fine. Let's go. It's not really that hot out."

Seeing that all Kirk was doing was setting himself up for a major fall, Spock nodded serenely and stepped out of his home for the brief trek to the learning center. Jim followed belatedly behind, his face already going red with the effort of breathing normally. _Gave me a goddamn black shirt... I'm gonna put a lizard in his bed, first chance I get._ A wicked smirk painted itself on Jim's face as he puffed along.

Luckily enough for the human, before he had a chance to drop from heat stroke, they had arrived. The learning center was a great, multi-level building that had the exotic look of being carved straight from the sheer cliff face it was nestled against along with the cultural preference of logical square design with the occasional oval window. It was so unlike his old school - Jim suppressed a wince, but he was already getting better at controlling the pangs of loss which ached in his chest - that he stopped and stared for a moment.

Spock obliged the moment to observe, then continued on at an unhurried pace, Jim running to catch up (which only served to put even more color in his face and muttered words). He stepped through the threshold, Jim sighing quietly as the cooler air hit his face, and immediately turned for the lower levels of the building, where his age group was located. Jim lagged behind, examining the geometrical patterns in the floor tiles, a thoughtful look replacing the cocky grin he'd normally have on. The halls were empty of other beings save for the odd pair.

After catching up to Spock, they entered the main learning chamber, which was dull and boring in comparison. Dark brown, roughly hewn stone, with great big scoops taken out of the floor, where a few children lounged as they waited for the cycle to officially begin. Spock found his own bowl and climbed down the stairs, standing with the air of a seasoned scholar as he waited for it to start.

Jim pieced together that this kid, who he still didn't know the name of, was all set to watch him fail. But he'd show him. He found one nearby with no one inside and slid down the gently sloped sides to come to a stop on his butt in the middle. A brief mental debate later, Jim could only hope there weren't many teachers, because he was pretty sure he'd be getting into big trouble if anyone found him here. But, as often happened, curiosity won out over caution, and he stood and wiggled as he tried to appear as Vulcan as possible.

Which really wasn't going all that well.

Moments later, blue sparked up in front of Jim, startling him. He jumped backwards, eyeing the holo-projections nervously, but once he perceived them to be no threat, he actually started listening to what was being asked. He dutifully gave his name and he sat back to see the result.

Data flashed up in front of him; various statistics of fauna survival in different experimental habitats. "What does that have to do with anything?" he asked the thing imperiously.

"Incorrect," the voice said.

"What? That wasn't my answer! Redo!" Jim cried, outraged. He just remembered to keep his voice low, ducking his head as he thought about how stupid it would be to get caught because of his temper... which happened often.

"What is the..."

The questions came faster and faster, more data flying up in front of him and overhead and other questions being flashed in front of his face. Jim was brought to mind the first time he realized whatever he read, he remembered: he was in a history class, and just to show off, he'd recited the entire Constitution, an ancient document that had something to do with his country. His classmates had laughed at him; his teacher thought he was cheating, and Jim Kirk had learned at a young age that being smart was nothing fun.

But these questions... they made him think. Normally he just preferred to goof off, to let life slide past him so he could go play. But, after a moment's thought... he didn't want to do that forever. Not right now, at least, with that stupid pointy-eared jerk thinking he was just a dumb animal to be tolerated. Jim'd show him, and once he was able to prove himself, they'd let him stay. He wouldn't be alone.

He hoped.

"Name the species of the being before you." A picture flashed up in front of him: a faded, worn holo of some kind of guy who looked like a goat, except his face appeared to have been smashed in with a brick. Jim wracked his brain, but couldn't come up with an answer.

"Um... my history teacher?" he suggested.

"Incorrect."

Jim grumbled, "I figured as much."

"Cycle complete. Score: ninety two point one percent. Congratulations, James Tiberius Kirk." Jim rolled his eyes, but his eyebrows pulled together when he realized his next problem: getting out.

He'd pretty much gotten that these people weren't big on humans. While it wasn't that uncommon to see them in the city itself (on the walk, he'd seen a few in the Starfleet uniforms and had resisted the urge to flick them off), he didn't think it'd be appreciated for him to be in the school.

So Jim sat, going over some of the problems he'd missed, and his curiosity only grew when he didn't figure out where he'd made a mistake. One of his favorite hobbies before realizing that acting smart was a stupid thing to do was going through the books his mom - and cue tightening of the chest and the familiar burning behind his eyes - had used when she was in school herself. It was so interesting, he could barely put it down. Biology, Calculus... even if he didn't understand three-quarters of what the hell they were doing.

"Do you require sustenance?" a soft voice called. Jim started and twisted his torso around, frowning when it was just the kid.

"I'm fine," he said airily. "How'd you do? I got, like, a ninety two. Not bad for a human, huh?" he bragged.

Up went the eyebrow. Spock was surprised, to say the least; he'd never expected a human to do so well, least of all this particularly big-mouthed one. "I have received one hundred percent, as is my standard."

Jim's good mood shattered. "Fuck," he muttered to his crossed legs. Letting a breath hiss out between his teeth, he unfolded himself and crossed his arms over his chest, the stony expression still on his face. He reluctantly walked up the steps, falling into step behind the boy, who, he thought infuriatingly, was taller than him, on top of being smarter.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't realize Spock had stopped moving and, as would most, walked right into him. Jim took a step back, spitting out an apology, and looked up, his eyes instantly narrowing.

It didn't take weekends cooped up for being grounded to understand what was happening. Three older kids, all of whom had redirected their piercing stares from Spock to him, had the sullen air about them that told Jim two things: one, they had been bullies a long time, and two, they'd recently gotten some payback.

"I see you have brought along a human, Spock," the first lump of cells said, lifting his chin up so he was staring down his nose. "Are you finally associating soley with your own kind?"

"You elicited the emotional response you had been seeking the day previous," the newly-named Spock said, his jaw clenching imperceptibly. "Logically, you should cease your actions now."

"The altercation only proved our hypothesis," the second one replied, his voice having an annoying nasal twinge that only accompanied a broken or recently injured nose.

"Um, I am right here, you know I've got ears, right?" Jim cut in loudly. "I don't appreciate you insulting me. 'Cuz I know that's what you're doing."

"This conversation has nothing regarding you, human," the third one stated. "As your kind would say, kindly 'butt out'."

Jim felt anger burst to life within him, adrenaline spearing through his veins. "I'm gonna knock you out if you don't shut up." He held up one fist threateningly.

"Look, it has allowed its anger to overrule the survival instinct humans have ingrained into their psyche," the second twanged, nodding to his peers. "It must be particularly unintelligent."

"Would it be a reasonable hypothesis to say that Spock is making it follow him to prove he is Vulcan?"

"Perhaps. The experiment must be considered a failure, however, for he does not appear any more Vulcan than he was yesterday, when he allowed his emotions to take control." The first one, obviously the leader, was preparing a final, biting comment when he swallowed and bowed respectfully.

"Ambassador Sarek," he said, with only the faintest trace of disgust. In fact, Jim might have been imagining it, for all the emotion the words lacked.

Spock turned, a mask falling into place over his eyes, so he appeared to look like a clothing store mannequin. "Father."

"Spock, James," the older Vulcan said. "I must ask why you have allowed him to come here, my son. It is culturally unprecedented."

"But not explicitly forbidden, Father," Spock pointed out, and Jim cocked his head. Was Spock... defending him? For being there?

Well. He wasn't going to tolerate that. He wasn't a monkey to be told to dance only on command; he was smart, dammit. "'Scuse me, Mister Sarek, sir," Jim piped up. "It's not his fault. I tagged along. I wanted to see so I could get my mind off... you know..." He trailed off, looking ashamed.

If he was nothing, Jim was an actor at the very least.

James Kirk realized that, as of now, the life he had known was over. Yes, the wound still stung something fierce, but now he was in a place with a fresh new start right in front of him. That didn't mean he'd forget his mom, or Sam, or, okay, even his dad. But he was going to keep pushing through, stubborn idiot that he was.

And all that started off with using his natural charm to get his way.

Sarek's demeanor softened the tiniest bit. "It is understandable; however," he said, a stern tone creeping up, "I was supposed to make an appearance with you in front of the High Council to appeal for you to be a victim-guest in our home until you held a steady, paying job and could live on your own."

Jim tuned him out, blinking his blue eyes up. "I'm really sorry," he said, subdued. "Can we go now?"

Sarek thought for a moment, then nodded. "Spock, you are to go home. Tell your mother of the events. I will be back as soon as the meeting is finished."

Clearly a dismissal. Spock gave his acknowledgement and dutifully headed off in the direction of the exit. Jim started to follow, but a warm hand on his shoulder kept him behind. "Come with me, James Kirk."

_Why do they keep calling me that?_ Jim thought, struggling to keep up with Sarek as he took off, striding purposefully towards a different door. The doors opened to reveal a different corridor, this one artistically rendered with scenes from the history of Vulcan. Or, that was the vibe he got, at least, because all the people had pointy ears. But there was a lot of big splashes of green he didn't get, so he made a note to ask about that later.

There was a lift at the end; Sarek was waiting in it already, watching with nothing to indicate impatience or bemusement as Jim lagged behind to stare. Once the child realized his error, he jogged to the end and grabbed a protruding device for balance.

"High Council Chamber," Sarek said slowly. The lift lurched up, climbing with an ever-increasing rate. Jim tried to press himself against the wall: the idea of being splattered everywhere didn't much appeal to him. But, after a moment, all was well, for the lift doors opened, with no one greviously injured in any way.

The unlikely pair waited outside a very ornate set of doors, Jim taking note of the designs with his usual curiousity (meaning he was trying to see if it would break very easily) and was rather startled when they whooshed open. Sarek strode in, his robes flapping behind him, the only noise in the dead silent room.

Jim was certain his eyes were about to pop out of his head. The rounded ceiling was framed with intricate glass settings, like the church his mom had gotten married in, but in reds and browns, to block out the sun. Craning his head back, he took stock of the representative scenes: more history, with the occasional green panel.

What did that stuff stand for? He wanted to find out.

"Ambassador Sarek," a voice boomed. Jim jumped a little, returning his focus to the matter at hand.

In front of him was a shitload of people - Vulcans - same difference. They were all old, if the wrinkles meant the same as they did with humans, and their hair was grey. Gnarled hands pointed at him as they made unfamiliar gestures, apparently discussing his presence. Jim felt his self-confidence shrink.

"High Councilor Nevak," Sarek said, inclining his head in a respectful manner.

"You have brought forth a most peculiar request, Ambassador Sarek," this new Vulcan said, shuffling some papers. "You awoke very early this morning with your wife to file a victim-guest claim for a human. Most peculiar, indeed." The old one shifted his gaze onto Jim. "I presume this is the boy?"

"Yep, that's me," Jim said, grinning, though inside he wanted to be far, far away.

"Quite emotional," he heard one mutter. Though it was most likely on purpose, Jim thought sourly. They seemed to have better hearing than he did, if the mishap in the shuttle closet had been anything to go by.

"Will you allow the human to present his side?" Nevak said. "If he wishes to stay, it is only logical he should petition for the right."

Sarek nodded, and took a step back. Jim was left floundering. "What am I doing?" he hissed.

"Tell them why you want to stay," Sarek murmured. Jim swallowed, ran a nervous hand through his hair, and finally took a deep breath.

"Um, sirs and ma'ams," he started, then shook his head. "Ah, shit."

He clapped loudly, feeling his lips stretch. Oh, this was going to be _fun_. "Alright, so a couple a' days ago, my-" his voice broke, but he forced himself to keep going "-my mom and brother... and step-dad," he amended, "were murdered by a guy who looked like you, but with these markings all over his face."

Nevak held up a hand for a moment to make a notation. "Continue."

"I wandered around 'cuz I kinda killed the guy-" a startled look shone in his eyes as the knife plunged into his neck, but Jim forced the image away "-and I tried to take over Mister Sarek's shuttle. I was trying to get away. It didn't work very well, and I got all upset again-" his nose wrinkled in distaste for his weakness; there went his image "-and when I conked out, he took me to his house, and I met his son, and he's alright, kind of a jerk, but alright, really. I mean, we got into a fight first off, but that was kind of my fault."

He lifted up the front of his shirt, showing off the angry purple bruise on his middle.

"And Spock was nice to me again this morning, even when I broke their special pot thing. Sorry," he added, looking not the least bit apologetic at Sarek. "Anyway, he let me tag along to school and when he said I couldn't do it, I did anyway. I did pretty good, too, like a ninety two." He preened under the fading afternoon sunlight, though the image was spoiled when his stomach let out a muffled roar. "Well, then there were bullies, but we stood up to 'em, you know, and it was pretty awesome."

"Is there going to be a conclusion to these proceedings, James Kirk?" one of the members called.

"Jesus Christ, you old bat, gimme a second," he snapped, then covered his mouth. "Oops."

"Please, let us finish," the leader said, and motioned for Jim to continue.

"Well, to finish up, it's not home, but they're pretty nice people. I mean, they got up early today, so I couldn't meet them, but Spock and I've really hit it off." Hey, if it meant a roof over his head and food in his stomach, he was willing to fudge the truth a bit. Not like he hadn't done it before.

There was a moment of exchanged conversation. "This is the first case of a victim-guest being human, Sarek," Nevak said sternly. "By doing this, you have opened him to all our customs, and many of our race will be displeased."

"By founding the Federation, we have opened our lives to humans, and they to us," Sarek reminded them. "They have shared their customs with us, and it is our choice not to do the same. As a result, we still feel humans are inferior beings, whether we choose to admit it or not. By bringing in James Kirk as a victim-guest, I aim to lower the barriers between our races."

Jim felt his head dip. He knew they couldn't just want him for him. Considering sometimes his own mother got so exasperated with him she sent him off to a friend's house for an hour or two, he figured it shouldn't be such a surprise.

"As a victim-guest, James Kirk, Sarek will be legally obliged to feed and house you, but in return, you must do what he wishes, as long as it is within reason."

Jim frowned. "So, what, I have to do his chores? Ew, gross, I don't even do my _own_ half the time."

More muttered talk among the Vulcans on the higher levels. "If you refuse, you will be cast off, and sent back to Earth on the next available transport."

Seeing no other option, and not wishing to go back to the planet where he was being hunted, Jim sullenly mumbled, "Okay, fine, fine."

"There will be the mandatory thirty standard day waiting trial. If he is unfit, at the end of the trial period he may be expunged. Until then, Sarek, James Kirk, dismissed."

And that was that. Jim Kirk, whether he liked it or not, was stuck here for a while.

---

**Notes:** Thanks for everyone who showed up to read the last chapter. Again, so many! I'm astounded.

To address a few comments regarding the slash: Sorry, but there will be some. No explicit stuff (ew). But, keep in mind, the primary thing here is friendship. This is Jim and Spock, the greatest duo in Starfleet history, the yin to each other's yang, growing up, with everything that comes with it.

Yes, that means the _pon farr_ too. But not for a while. So, anyone who doesn't like slash, you can stay and read about them growing up, and high-tail it when the romance starts.

Remember, Jim's a genius, technically, but he only really likes math and science because it's challenging. And he's been playing stupid as to not attract attention. So him scoring well in the bowl-thing isn't that far out there.

I don't own it. -sadness- Leave a review if you want, or favorite it, or alert it, or whatever. -happy again- I'm so grateful you like it. This plot-tribble has been bouncing around for weeks before I dared write it out.


	4. four

Jim Kirk was happy.

That in itself was strange, because there was a niggling feeling at the back of his thoughts that insisted something was very wrong and he had no right to be feeling this way. But that same dopey smile was still pasted on his face as he sat at the kitchen table, legs kicking the underside as he waited anxiously for the special treat his mother had promised.

Winona Kirk set a stack of waffles down on her son's plate, laughing as he held up his fork and knife, wielding them like a man who hadn't seen food for stellar cycles. "Relax, Jimmy, there's more where that came from. And I need to get Sam some, too," she admonished, pointing her spatula at him in a fake-threatening manner.

"Jeez, Jim, can't even wait for me?" his older brother said in a sleep-dulled voice as he staggered out from his bedroom.

"I will when you get rid of those stupid jammies," Jim teased. Sam, during the cold months, wore feetie pajamas, because as a sickly kid, he absolutely hated getting cold, because somehow he'd taken up the sentiment that 'cold = sick = hospital = jerks with pointy things'. Jim found it hilarious, of course.

"Thanks," Sam said sourly.

"Well, you're just lucky I saved you some waffles, anyway," Jim said, his condescending smile growing fond. Witty banter over breakfast: the perfect beginning to a good day. Sunlight sparkled with almost unhealthy cheer as it bounced around the old-fashioned kitchen, gleaming off the polished counter (which he himself had finished scrubbing recently) and the most recent addition: a modern replicator.

This wonderful new (and mildly expensive) piece of equipment stood alone today, unused. Instead, Winona stood covered in splatters of batter as she fired up the waffle iron again to make some for herself.

"But why couldn't you save me, Jim?"

That good feeling Jim had been experiencing left abruptly, vanishing along with the sunlight. Instead it was the lightening purple of the night just before the sun rose. Jim turned fearful eyes on his brother, his home-made breakfast forgotten.

Sam turned to his little brother, the ragged slash across his windpipe spilling out maggots and beetles as the boy wheezed, desperately trying to inhale through his shattered trachea. Before Jim's eyes, he decayed, shrivelling into a withered husk as his skin dried up, flaked away. The rotting corpse held out one emaciated hand to Jim, who fell out of the chair with a whimper of fear.

"Jimmy," a voice hissed, and blue eyes turned on his mother, eyes dangling from their sockets, squeezed out in pure malice. The bruises around her neck shone faintly, and before his eyes, blood began oozing from the pores, thick and viscous and dark red.

"No," he screamed. "I'm sorry! I didn't know, I didn't see!"

"He was after you," they chanted, taking a staggering step forward, knocking over the table and reducing it to mere splinters. Stars dropped down from the pre-dawn sky and cycloned around the kitchen, destroying everything with an incinerating touch no sun could ever hope to compare to. They converged into a figure, and as Jim scooted farther away, they solidified.

The man, all pointed ears and markings and bared teeth, lunged forward, fingernails ragged and dripping with his brother's blood. But, even then, a geyser began to spurt from his neck, and not even stopping there, that dark fountain bursting out from his nose and mouth, two trickles dribbling down his face in a mockery of tears.

"I wanted you..." he moaned, and collapsed.

Jim felt his throat constrict and had to fight to keep his scream mental, though no matter how he tried to, he couldn't stop his limbs from trembling, knocking against the floor and the wall his back had just hit like the dry rattling of bones against each other.

His mother and brother advanced upon him, and this time, he couldn't stop the scream that tore from his throat. It wrapped around him, obliterating any attempts at rational thoughts he might have made, and even as he began to run out of air, the fallen form of the star-man rose, as if on strings, to confront him as well.

The face, covered in gleaming blood with light trapped inside, morphed into Spock's. "You will never belong here," he hissed, an uncharacteristic look of anger twisting his young features into something truly hateful.

That, more than anything, snapped Jim out of it.

He awoke, sweat streaming down his face and chest in little rivulets, a silent scream forcing his aching jaw into a wider and wider position as his lungs fought to draw in air but his mind fought to release the blind terror he felt.

Jim began choking, hacking coughs mingling with sobs as he put his head in his hands. It wasn't fair, dammit! He didn't know, he couldn't have known... there was nothing he could have done...

_But there was_, a quite voice reminded him. _The bed creaked. Sam was struggling. You should have gotten up and woke up Mom, or even Frank. Bet he would've been happy for a new punching bag. I should have looked. I could have..._

"You continue to suffer from nightmares," someone observed.

Jim started, a great twitch that rippled across his frame. "Why are you here?" he asked tiredly, his voice hoarse.

Spock stepped forward, flipping on the light in the living room. "You woke me up with your shouting."

Jim tried to muster the energy to be offended, but the faces of his family flashed behind his eyelids and he flinched. "Sorry," he said instead.

There was an awkward silence that seemed to be all the young boys could ever ask for instead of the normal fighting. Finally, Spock moved a little closer, folding himself into a cross-legged seat next to Jim.

"I've never had a nightmare before," he admitted in a quiet voice.

If he had been more alert, Jim would have laughed. A kid, not having nightmares? As it was, he gave a listless shrug. "They're not all sunshine and daffodils, let me tell you," he said bitterly as he avoided eye contact.

"I would not expect them to be. Would you care to talk about them?"

Jim sent him a confused and suspicious look. "Firstly, that was sarcasm. Secondly, hell no. They're scary enough the first time around."

"Psychological studies have shown that there is a sixty four percent decrease in the recurrence of nightmares if the subjects of the dreams can be properly analyzed and disproved."

Jim inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering. "Okay," he said, his voice cracking. "If you think it'll make it stop."

"I do."

"I... I was at my house. And we were eating waffles, me and Mom and Sam. And... and..." He shook his head, unable to continue. "There's no point. They're just dreams."

"There is nothing to be concerned about," Spock reassured. "As you have pointed out, your mother and your brother are both deceased. There is no need to fear them coming back to garner retribution."

And that, of all the ways to say it, was the straw that broke the camel's back. Jim felt all the pain and anger and sheer loneliness bubble up and he couldn't help his next reaction: completely breaking down into a sobbing mess. Half formed protests and pleas for his family to stay spilled out of his lips, as numerous as the tears that flowed down his cheeks. Spock did not understand the display, for logic told him that, if the dreams that plagued Jim were about his family, then surely reassuring him that they were dead and done with would have helped?

Humans were far more complicated than his mother, that was for sure, Spock reflected as he tried to think of a gesture of comfort. Biting his lip, he scooched a little closer and, after a moment's hesitation, patted Kirk on the back. A memory floated up, unbidden, of Spock as a toddler, crying over the plant he'd been given as it wilted in the harsh Vulcan heat. His mother's gentle hand on his back went from pats to rubbing in circles, and Spock echoed that motion with Kirk.

Jim sniffled, and gave Spock a watery grin. "I'm such a baby, right?" he croaked. "Here you are, all smart and shit, and I'm just this retarded little fuck-up who can't do anything right." He laughed, but it was dry and harsh and scraped his already-raw throat. "I'm gonna live here, and I don't even know why."

"I am not sure either," Spock said softly. Another thought occurred to him, but he banished it as illogical with practiced ease. "To some extent, however... I suppose I should be grateful."

"Why's that?"

Spock let his eyes drop to his hand and retracted the other one, clasping them together in his lap. "I am detested in Vulcan society. Now, so are you, the first human victim-guest in the history of our kind."

"Outcasts together, huh?" Jim said, a true smile breaking through the cloud of stormy emotions that dominated his face. "Are you proposing an alliance? You cover my back, I'll cover yours?"

Spock, at a loss for words, could only nod, feeling a grin tugging insistently at the corners of his mouth. _Stop,_ he commanded the muscles of his face. _Vulcans do not express or feel emotion. I must get better at this._

"Excellent," Jim said. "Shake on it?" In a bizarre twist, he spat into his palm and held it out. Spock recoiled, faintly disgusted.

"What purpose does saliva serve for humans?" he asked, curious despite himself. "Is it a bond-seal?"

"What? No," Jim said. "It's how we do things in my town. You spit - and shake. It's easy." He nodded encouragingly to Spock, who grimaced, but complied. The feeling of the spit mixing on his hand - and the mental twitches that accompanied the hand-contact as he had expected and so prepared for - were fairly gross, but he managed to keep the expression off his face. Jim, for one, looked as if he had done this many times, and wiped it off when the handshake finished with the air of a seasoned negotiator.

"How old are you?" Spock asked.

"Ten," Jim said proudly.

"I'm eleven."

A mental string of curses passed through Jim's mind, but with effort, he stifled them. The most basic of information required for a promise exchanged, a slightly more comfortable silence than before (but still slightly awkward) settled between them.

"If that is all," Spock said, shattering the quiet, "I will return to my quarters."

At about the same time, Jim blurted, "Do you wanna go explore with me?"

Jim giggled nervously, but the idea had struck and now his mind was clear of its sleep-induced cobwebs, his limbs light, like someone had tied a cloud to his butt. "I'm not tired anyways, and I don't know what it's like around here, so...?"

Before Spock could come up with a logical reason why they shouldn't (night predators, the chilling temperatures; he could go on) Jim had wriggled into his borrowed shirt and was pulling on his shoes, half way out the front door. Spock stood up swiftly, resigning himself to covering Kirk's back more than the other way around.

Jim stopped outside the front door, inhaling deeply as he put his hands on his hips. "Much nicer out here," he commented. "Doesn't make me feel like I'm gonna melt."

Spock's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. Did humans...? Impossible. His mother never reported such feelings. But he tucked away the concern and made a mental note to ask Amanda about it at the earliest opportunity. He blinked, and suddenly Jim was off, taking long strides into the distance as he found his own path to walk.

Which, apparently, had not been walked on in several years, for it was overgrown with several interesting specimens of Vulcan botany Spock would have found fascinating to study, but which Jim was unconcerned with, because he pushed through them with little care, already eager for his next adventure. Spock blinked and moved to catch up.

The walls of the cliffs loomed around them, their normally bright red and sepia tones muted by shadows. The path widened marginally, and Jim took that as some kind of signal to start exploring. He darted off the trail, hair whipping around him, and poked his head into a small cave, a pocket of black in the cliff face. Once his curiosity had been sated, he bent down to briefly itch his leg and made his way back to the weather-beaten strip of dirt.

With Spock trailing behind, clearly uneasy, Jim continued to make his way along the path, occasionally bouncing off to look at something new that caught his attention, until they had passed the cliffs completely and were standing at the cusp of the desert. Jim absentmindedly rolled up his pant leg to scratch the skin and caught sight of it.

"Gross, look at my leg!" he called, and Spock hurried over, already dreading having to explain this to his parents. So much for the least amount of interaction possible, Spock noted grimly.

It was pulsing. Peering intently at it, he could see the skin moving in time with the beat of Jim's heart, and even before his eyes, a faint shimmer of blue began to sluggishly work its way forward, making the puffy and agitated skin swell even more as it turned colors.

"While the _Ta'laln_ plant is irritating to the touch, it should not be causing such an adverse reaction," Spock said calmly. "Fascinating. You are allergic to it."

Jim rolled his eyes. "I'm allergic to lots of stuff, but I don't really remember the list. It'll go away soon enough. Come on, let's keep going, I wanna see the desert."

With that, he rolled his pants down and continued on, looking like he could care less that his leg was becoming stiff and harder to walk on. One would hardly be able to tell, unless they noticed the steady limp and the way Jim's fingers began to twitch, stopped only by clenching them into a fist as he resisted the ever-growing urge to scratch.

Quiet settled over the two as, after a solid fifteen minutes of walking, Jim flopped down on a rock and sighed explosively.

"It's just sand and rocks," he complained as he tilted his head back to look at the stars and the different configurations of the constellations. "Boring."

"That is what a desert is," Spock said as he knelt down to take another peek at the progression of the rash. Careful not to irritate the skin more than it already was, he tugged the cloth back and reported in a dismayed tone, "It has advanced past your knee. It is not illogical to project it has spread to the other leg as well."

"Okay."

"You do not seem worried," Spock said, and gently pushed Jim into a flat position, so he was laying on his back as Spock lifted up his shirt. Unfortunately, it was just as he had suspected: the line of blue had advanced rapidly and was already half-way up his midsection. "It is imperative we report to Mother and Father and see a medical expert as soon as possible."

Jim opened his mouth to come up with a sharp reply about where Spock could take his suggestion and shove it when a high-pitched whistling caught their attention. Spock watched in growing dread as Jim's hair began to float out, the obscenely long locks standing on end. The young half-Vulcan could only imagine the same was happening to him.

"Your hair looks really stupid, Spock," Jim said, a high-pitched giggle falling from his lips.

"We need to find shelter. Now."

"Who needs shelter when we can go helter-skelter..." Jim babbled imperiously, his eyes rolling so the whites flashed. He shot to his feet, Spock following quickly, and tried to do the dance that had accompanied the song on the holo, but his limbs did not cooperate and he instead fell to the sand, twitching madly.

A progression of thoughts passed through Spock's mind, no few which involved throwing Jim over a cliff if only to put him in a body cast for a few days so he would be still, but he swallowed and braced his mental shields. In one smooth motion, he bent down, grabbed an arm and a leg, and had perched Jim upon his shoulders before the younger boy knew what was happening.

Spock took off for the cliffs at a steady pace, fighting the human instinct to panic and instead channeling his emotions into more energy to fuel his desperate run. He could hear the howling of the winds behind him, as well as the tell-tale crackle of lightning as the sand fire began gathering power.

Of all the things to happen the day he went outside the boundaries of his home, it had to be that. Sand fires were deadly and noted for the phenomena of lightning in a sand storm, which many had thought to be impossible until their sciences had proved it and, to an extent, replicated it in closed conditions. Nonetheless, Spock knew the danger and pushed his body for every ounce of speed it had, his superior eyesight locating a cave barely half a mile away.

He could feel the stings on the back of his legs from where the nearly-microscopic grains of sand had wormed through his pants and were eagerly chafing against his skin, but he forced himself to ignore the pain, even as it grew steadily harder to ignore. He could only imagine what Jim would feel like when he was recovered; Vulcan physiology had adapted to their harsh desert planet, and having tougher skin was a big part of that.

There was a flash of ozone, a horrid stench in his nose he couldn't help but gag at, and a bright flash, followed almost instantaneously by a wall of sound that had the effect of nearly deafening Spock, causing him to stumble and almost fall. The cave was in sight; he put on an extra burst of speed, only to be thrown forward as yet another lightning bolt struck where his feet had just been, tossing him into the niche like he weighed nothing more than an atom, making Jim fly out of his grasp. Pain swelled up, knocking around the inside of his skull, but he forced it back to assess the situation.

Jim was nearly unconscious, mumbling to himself; the rash had mottled his face with glimmering patches of blue, and the whites of his eyes were now the same shade as well. His hands ghosted along his body, wanting to itch but knowing subconsciously that it would be a very bad thing indeed if he were too. Spock pulled them a little farther into the cave, and only after he was sure Jim wasn't going to die (immediately, there was no telling what the rash could do if left untreated) did he check himself.

The backs of his legs, from heel to thigh, stung like nothing else. Being careful not to let little hisses of pain exit his lips, he probed the afflicted area and diagnosed it as nothing worse than some moderate chafing. The sand particles were very small; small enough to slip through the fibers of his pants. Spock made a note to work on a design for weather-proof clothing. It would be useful for days like this. He also had a small laceration on his forehead where it had struck a rock buried in the ground, a result of being blasted forward by the lightning. So, in short, nothing life threatening.

"If this is how every day is going to start, Kirk, I must confess I am not looking forward to your time here," Spock grumbled, a decidedly human note of unhappiness coloring his tone.

The wall of sand Spock had barely outrun came crashing down upon them, roaring like a wounded beast, sending out little flickers of light that had the unfortunate ability to kill anything it touched. A few tongues of sand-laden wind feathered in, but the pair of boys were far enough back that it could not reach them for the unmoving air.

A low moan filled the small cavern and Spock looked over at Jim, concern tightening the muscles of his jaw. Jim, the same frail boy who had broken down crying in front of the half-Vulcan who's home he now shared, was thrashing about, his voice steadily climbing higher as he once again revisited his nightmares. To remain in that state could cause exceptional emotional and, yes, even physical damage, for his immune system was being battered enough as it was.

Spock was at a loss. He did not want to touch the bare skin of Jim, not only for the rash, but for the emotions he was exuding, which had already begun to manifest as a ball of tension just above Spock's left ear. He had done the bizarre ritual earlier out of polite curiosity, and had prepared accordingly. But to touch him during a night terror...? He would be lucky if he was treated to a visual performance, and at the worst, he would become entwined in it, never to leave again.

Sometimes, Spock reflected somewhat bitterly, having exceptional psychic aptitude did little besides make life difficult.

Before he could begin the proper meditation for such a venture, Jim's body became stiff, and Spock had little choice in the matter, for it was apparent after a moment of quick observation that his heart had stopped.

If he did not do something, Jim would die.

Gritting his teeth, Spock knelt down next to him, held his open hand aloft, and brought it down onto Jim's face with a smack.

A cloud of terror and heartbreak and even anger washed over him, dropping him to the sandy ground as he curled into a ball, tears biting at his eyes though he knew he could not shed them, anger boiling in his stomach, pure fear making him shiver and causing bile to rise up in his throat.

It took a moment, one Spock spent wisely gathering the emotions and resettling them within his well-structured mind, for Spock to realize that Jim was awake and staring at him with eyes not entirely lucid.

But it was better than him being dead. That was a plus.

"What a rush," he muttered, his voice crackling and grating like an old fire. "Thanks, Dad."

And with that, he dropped to the ground, unconscious, breathing deeply and evenly, with no sign of any dreams troubling him for the time being. Spock let out a quiet sigh of relief, and then exhaustion washed over him, allowing him only enough time to move away from the sleeping form of Jim before it knocked him out as well.

The two slept deeply, unknowing or uncaring of the wind as it howled just outside the entrance of their shelter, the crack of thunder following the flash of lightning blending to make a natural melody few had heard since the invention of sound-proof homes. A small smile crept onto Jim's face, echoed by a faint and almost impossible to discern twitch of the lips by Spock.

Hours passed. The sand fire died down and the sun's rays crept through the haze of dust, falling in a bar of sunlight across Jim's face. He blinked, sat up, and almost immediately began sneezing, the sound which reverberated around the little hole and startled Spock to his feet, hands held out as if expecting an attack.

"Good morning?" Jim said, his tongue thick-feeling and his eyes watering.

"We should attempt to head back home," Spock said stiffly.

Without bothering to see if Jim was alright, he turned and marched out of the cave, leaving a slightly confused but still very blue and itchy Jim behind. "Okay, someone isn't a morning person," he said to himself under his breath.

Yawning, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Jim staggered out of the niche and into a wall of black. He bounced back, landing on his butt in the hot sand, and looked up, squinting against the glare of the sun.

"What suitable form of punishment should be delivered to James for wandering about in an unfamiliar terrain?" a low, familiar voice said. Jim picked himself up and dusted his rear off, feeling sweat begin to bead on his forehead.

"Sorry, Mister Sarek, sir," he mumbled, reaching around to itch his back.

"I think that rash is all the punishment he needs, dear," Amanda replied, a faint smile playing on her lips as she gave him a once-over. "Besides, they're both alright, and that's all we should be thinking about." She sent Jim a stern look and beckoned him over, Spock standing stiffly next to her. Jim slunk over, keenly aware of the eyes boring into his back.

"We were never properly introduced," she continued warmly. "I am Amanda Grayson, Spock's mother. After the hearing yesterday, Sarek brought you home, but I was at a meeting waiting for him. By the time we came home, you two were already asleep."

Jim gave her his most heartfelt smile. "Nice to meet you, ma'am," he said solemnly. "I'm really sorry for this, ma'am. I just wanted to go see what this place was like, and if it had anything fun to do. But I'm allergic to some of the plants, I guess-" he paused to itch his arm for emphasis "-and Spock saved me. And so did my dad."

Amanda gave him a polite smile, though she was a little confused, because he had reported that he lived with his mother and brother and stepfather...ah, the minds of children. Her boy acted so grown up, it was hard to remember childish antics and how to respond. So she settled for bending over and wrapping her arms around him in a hug, which he stiffened at but slowly reciprocated.

Then, while she was busy muttering calming nonsense into his ear, Jim looked over at Spock and smirked.

Just as he had done to his teachers and the adults in his town, Jim was wrapping Amanda around his little finger, portraying innocence to get his way. Spock tensed, but he was able to recognize the logic in the maneuver. By making the people in charge think he could do no wrong, there was little he wouldn't be able to get away with, accented by the fact he was human like his mother and would have that factor in his favor as well.

Clever. Very, very clever.

"Alright," Amanda said, straightening and putting her hands on Jim's shoulders. "First, we need to get some food in us, then we'll go visit a doctor. It's probably for the best, too, it's about time for Spock to have his yearly check up, and you need one as well."

Both boys went pale. Several excuses flashed through Jim's mind, but with Amanda's hands still locked around his arms and Sarek standing not too far away (not to mention the fact he could snap Jim in half if he so chose, though violence seemed a tad extreme for these people, Spock notwithstanding), Jim gave it up as a bad job and instead went for the puppy dog eyes.

"Ma'am, I'm real tired," Jim said, faking a huge yawn. "Maybe we could go tomorrow, or some other day?"

Amanda smiled and leaned down so she was speaking in his ear.

"Hun, you might be cute, but I wasn't born yesterday. Lunch, then the doctor. No complaints."

Jim sighed. What a long day today was going to be.

---

**Notes:** Once again, thanks for checking this little thing out. I've gotten tons of hits, and reviews, and twenty-nine people have favorited it. Twenty nine! That's a lot. Sheesh. You guys are awesome.

Any questions, leave a review and I'll try and get to them. Got a comment? Leave a review. Did you hate something? Tell me about it. Feedback helps.

Remember when I said I had a basic plot? I lied. That doesn't start until they're both about eighteen, when they leave for Starfleet. Any ideas for something to fill their years on Vulcan, please leave a suggestion, or it'll be a giant time skip, and no one likes those very much.

What else... I don't own Star Trek, too bad for me. I'd love too, then Spock would stay his cute little self forever. Not that he's not cute as an adult, but as a kid, he makes me want to smush him against my nonexistent bosom.

That's about it. Sorry for the long time between updates. Friday I had a parent home, Saturday I had a sleepover, Sunday I had a wedding and relatives over. Gah. Don't forget to review!


	5. five

"Please?"

"No, James."

"Do we have to?"

"Yes. It is a requirement for all children to have a physical record on file in the case of any emergency."

Jim crossed his arms over his chest and sank lower in the chair, wincing slightly as the thin padding did nothing to make it any more comfortable. Next to him, Sarek, who he had been debating with, turned away and began the mind-numbing process of registering Jim as a patient. Not to mention the fact that Spock was on his other side, stiff as a board and even paler than usual, which was about see-through.

"Kirk, James," a flat voice droned, followed by a mess of garbled sounds and pauses. Jim stood, Sarek and Spock following a beat afterwords. Under the pretense of yawning and stretching, Jim began looking for the fastest route to the exit, his eyes flicking back and forth. When he had plotted his course, he waited until the pair's back were turned, and bolted.

All most of the other patients in the waiting room of the local hospital saw was a flash of light blond hair and maybe a glimpse of bright blue eyes as Jim streaked through the lobby, ducking under a taller person's line of sight to sneak along. He almost made it, too, if it weren't for the fact he was somewhat well-known already and Amanda had taken a good guess at his character when they'd stopped home for a bite to eat.

Blocking the doors were the doctor herself and Amanda, the former giving the Vulcan equivalent of a displeased stare at him down her nose and the latter tapping her foot. "This is the human boy you are housing as a victim-guest, Madam Sarek?" the doctor said.

Amanda nodded. "Little spitfire," she added. "Snuck out last night and got into the cliffs. We figure he's had an allergic reaction to the _Ta'laln_ plant."

Jim was subjected to a precursory check-up as the doctor told him to tilt his head first one way, then the other, taking note of the silvery-blue patches that covered his face. "They itch," he informed her. "And they're everywhere." He waggled his eyebrows. "If you catch my drift."

Even if the doctor didn't get the joke, which she did, she would not have reacted. Jim was left hanging as the woman simply asked him to follow her, leading him through a maze of red-brown halls to stop in front of an electronic door, which slid open at her activation code. Amanda gently nudged him inside and waved as the door whooshed shut, leaving him alone with a stranger who undoubtedly wanted nothing more than to stick him with a nice hypo.

"Remove your clothing," the doctor instructed. Jim blushed bright red, his cheeks aflame and his ears burning. It wasn't like he hadn't taken his clothes off in front of a doctor before; that, he was used to. But he knew all his doctors back home. This lady, quite frankly, was callous and rather scary.

"Um, is that entirely necessary?" Jim ventured, playing with the hem of his shirt.

One of her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline, and she absently tucked a strand of long hair behind one sharply pointed ear. "Sarek wishes for a complete examination to be done. In order for all procedures to be accurate, clothing must be absent."

"Could you..." Jim paused, chewing on his lower lip. "Turn around please?"

Her other eyebrow briefly vanished as well, but she complied, mumbling to herself about human emotions and their misplaced senses of modesty. Jim quickly stripped down and tugged on the hospital gown, noting in a displeased fashion that they were just as thin and unpleasant as they had been on Earth. He'd had his fair share of accidents, most of which involved doing something stupid for attention and him paying the price.

There were other times, but he was unwilling to think of those, and thus the matter was finished.

"Up on the berth. I am going to scan you with this device, called a tricorder, which will-"

Jim cut her off. "Look, lady, I'm young, not stupid. Just... do your doctor thing and stop treating me like I'm an idiot, alright?"

If the woman was taken aback, she did a very good job of hiding it, because nothing passed over her face and nothing in her demeanor changed. She simply continued to watch him as he pulled himself up on the bunk and finally took out the device he'd become somewhat familiar with, having seen it several times before. It took her a moment to rearrange everything to suit a human's physiology, but once that had been sorted out, she scanned him in silence.

"You have had several internal injuries," she observed. "Bruised kidneys, six broken ribs, a fractured sternum-"

"I got in some fights," Jim said airily. "No big deal."

"Humans in your age group do not possess the strength required to cause such injuries. Excessive force has been used as punishment," she surmised.

"No," Jim snapped, and slid off the berth, anger shining in his eyes. "No. I got in fights. They were a little older than me, and they got pissed off when I showed them I could kick their asses, so they brought some buddies and jumped me. Alright? That's all that happened."

The doctor studied him intently. "Anger is often used as a defense mechanism when sensitive subjects are broached," she pointed out.

"I'm not angry!" Jim shouted, tears welling up and making his eyes glitter.

Silence swelled up over the pair and ground everything to a halt. The doctor gazed at him calmly, taking in his clenched fists, tense posture, and facial expression, with no emotion to reveal what she was feeling, if anything at all. She simply made a notation in the handheld computer and moved on. Jim was so startled by her lack of a rebuttal it actually shocked him into silence.

"You are due for eight vaccinations to be at the required level of health," the doctor said as she turned and began rummaging around in the cabinet next to her. Jim swallowed and blanched, taking a step back and feeling the cold metal of the berth chill his bare skin.

"Ah... well, you see..." Jim looked around, trying to press himself into the metal protruding out of the wall. "Gotta go, bye!"

He tried, he really did, but as Spock had told him, Vulcans were physically superior to humans in every way. The doctor had barely turned around with the tray full of hyposprays when Jim was at the door, punching in her access code by memory alone; and from the tonal root, as well! However, the doctor was well aware of the human irrationality of fear - she was Amanda's personal physician as well - and always kept a sedative on hand, which she now wielded with expertise born from practice. In less than a second, it was jabbing into Jim's neck and releasing its contents with a hiss.

Jim fared well: instead of being completely knocked out, he simply went limp. That was really all it took, however, because the doctor scooped him up and laid him flat on the bunk and Jim couldn't fight back, though if you listened hard enough you might have been able to make out some distinctly unpleasant words leaking out of his mouth.

Eight vaccines later, Jim was beginning to regain the ability to move, but that was looking less and less fun to do, especially since the hypos were meant for Vulcan children. Not that he thought the doctor was stupid enough to give him a Vulcan-strength shot, but it was one of several possibilities he humored for why, exactly, he hurt quite as much as he did. With a groan, he swung his feet over and dropped bonelessly to the floor.

"Can you kill me now, please?" he groaned.

The doctor, once again, failed to see the humor in the situation. "That would be grounds for an execution," she said dryly. "The pain will not last long. Use of your muscles will help the body absorb the vaccine rapidly, so exercise is a recommended treatment."

"You're insane," Jim quipped.

"I assure you, I am in perfect mental health. Regarding the rash-" she turned her back briefly enough not to catch the bird Jim flipped at her "-this herbal cream should be applied once a day to any afflicted areas. Let it sit for at least half an hour. Return only if you are experiencing difficulties seeing or are unable to consume sustenance without vomiting."

"'Kay," Jim mumbled, finding his arms and using them to push himself up. "I'm changing back into my clothes, thank you very much." Waiting an extra second for the doctor to obligingly turn around, he struggled into his pants and shirt, letting out little mewls of protest when his aching muscles were stretched in ways they did not exactly appreciate.

The door slid open, revealing an irate and still blue Jim to Amanda and her husband and, of course, her son. The human stomped out, teeth gritted, his muscles tense, and staggered down the hall without bothering to wait for the rest of the group to lead him out.

"How did he do?" Amanda asked, a note of exasperation creeping in to her voice.

"He required sedation," the doctor said. "He is in moderate health; I am prescribing vitamin supplements to be taken with his evening meal. There were several aged injuries I believe may cause him discomfort in the future because they did not heal correctly that appear to have been caused by an adult."

Sarek's voice could have frozen a sun. "He has been mistreated." It was not a question.

"James refused to refer to it as that, instead insisting it is the result of a schoolyard brawl on Terra," the doctor pointed out calmly. "It might have resulted in some kind of mental trauma. It would be prudent to have him analyzed."

"Can't we let him get settled in first?" Amanda said desperately. "He's practically a child! If we go digging into his past now, he'll never trust us."

"That is true. Humans are rather fickle," the doctor said, then realized her error. "My apologies, Lady Sarek." Amanda waved it off, and instead looked out on the hall, a frown creeping onto her face.

"Where'd Spock go?"

Spock, indulging in his curiosity for a moment, followed behind Jim as he managed to take every wrong twist and turn in the entire hospital, leading him deeper into the bowels of the building instead of towards the exit. It was only when he stopped to look around in confusion that Spock made himself visible.

Jim jumped about a foot into the air, whirling around and just barely restraining himself from lashing out. "Oh, it's just you," Jim said, sounding relieved. "Do you know how to get out of here?"

"Why did you refuse to admit that you were being mistreated?" Spock asked instead.

A hunk of ice lodged itself in Jim's stomach. He'd been sure the doctor wouldn't tell... the only thing his doctor back home had done was ask him uncomfortable questions he easily lied to answer, and that had been the end of it. Apparently, though, things were a little different here on Vulcan.

"Because I wasn't," Jim lied smoothly. "I got in a bad fight, and they kicked my ass. Nothing more, nothing less." A dangerous look entered his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, Spock felt fear rise up within. That was the look of a wild animal being backed into a corner, one who was about to lash out in defense of its life and secrets. "Got it?"

Spock swallowed, his throat bobbing as he gave a terse nod. "However illogical that falsehood may be, I will not pressure you further." He did not need to add that his parents would, however, because Jim had already struck off in a different direction. "If you continue that way, you will likely end up in the surgery ward. Many of the doctors would not appreciate your presence."

"Well, it's like that in a lot of places," Jim muttered, and turned smartly on one heel to head in the opposite direction, still quietly fuming, though the brunt of his anger had long since burned itself out.

Spock was silent as the pair walked down the hall, save for the occasional direction given to Jim so that they could get out of the hospital. They passed through the now-empty lobby, weaving around the chairs that were uncomfortable - probably on purpose - and exiting into the broiling midday heat. Jim almost buckled under the almost physical pressure of the sun's rays as they were absorbed into his black shirt.

"You feel fear," Spock said quietly as Jim sweated and struggled to breathe. "I want to show you something."

Without any words of warning or explanation, Spock struck off down the sidewalk, Jim puffing along behind him. After a moment, he tugged his shirt off and tied it vaguely bandanna style around his head. That had the double effect of cooling him down somewhat and attracting attention as aliens taking shore leave or even vacation on the planet pointed at him and giggled behind hands or fins or clacked mandibles together.

Blood rushed to Jim's face even as Spock led him off the main street and onto a little path hidden behind some spiny-looking plants that Spock managed to handle with expert care for both his hands (there were thorns about the size of Jim's finger sticking out from every conceivable place) and the vegetable itself. Pulling the threatening bushes back, he allowed Jim to slip through first and slid through after him, letting the plants fall into their natural barrier form.

Before them stretched a path that wound its way up into the sandy rock that jutted from the planet's crust almost everywhere. Spock took off, climbing like a man possessed, as Jim tried to make sense of what the hell was happening. So far, he wasn't getting it. So, seeing no other option, he reluctantly sped off, blinking sweat out of his eyes and gasping like a fish out of water.

It didn't take long for Spock to get where he was headed, and when Jim caught up, he was stunned.

Before him lay a beautifully arranged pool, with actual flowers with actual vibrant colors ringing the little depression. The water was like crystal, clear and smooth and faintly steaming. If you looked hard enough, little flickers of silver would flit somewhere in the depths; fish, and lots of them.

Spock hopped off the protruding rock and arranged himself in a sitting position next to the pool, giving the plants a precursory check for dead leaves or infestation before allowing Jim to follow, motioning with his chin for Jim to take a seat next to him. Jim did so, feeling slightly awkward and slightly in awe of the natural beauty of the place in front of him.

"Where are we?" Jim breathed.

"It is my... it is a natural spring, which, while not uncommon, has been completely purified by a vein of molten rock boiling away the various minerals that would normally accompany such a natural phenomena." Spock arranged his hands in some complex gesture and closed his eyes, breathing evenly. "I find it useful for meditation."

"Oh," Jim said in a small voice. "It's... very nice. Calming." He paused a moment, tapping his fingers on his knee. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I come here when I feel emotionally conflicted. Though I endeavor to be Vulcan, my human mother's genetics have brought some discomfort in the effort. This place increases my concentration and allows me to sort through everything and focus on logic. Perhaps you could do the same."

Jim swallowed, feeling... odd. No one had ever been this nice. Sure, he'd had friends back on Earth, but they were just people he talked to and tried to impress when the time came around. Not one of them had been quite as kind as Spock. Which, he though grimly, made him in Spock's debt. He hated that; not because he did it often, but because it made him feel powerless.

An eye for an eye; a secret for a secret.

"It was only one time," Jim began, and Spock opened one eye to regard Jim with barely concealed interest. "I was screwing around when I was eight, and on a dare, went into my step-dad's room and trashed it. He had a bunch of really crappy inventions started, and I wrecked them, and he came home and saw the ruins, and got pissed." A little laugh popped out, and Jim wiped the sweat gathering on his eyebrows off on his arm. "He dropped me with one punch to the head, and started kicking me, until I was choking on blood. Then he panicked, because Mom was gonna be home any second, and rushed me off to the hospital, sayin' I got in a big ol' fight."

"That does not explain why you did not tell your mother of the correct circumstances," Spock said quietly.

"Frank was a bastard," Jim continued, a bitter tone swelling within his voice. "He said if I ever told the truth, he'd hurt me so bad, that last time would look like a walk in the park. I was scared, so I went with it." He ducked his head, feeling shame and hatred rise like sour bile in the back of his throat. "I felt glad when I figured out he was dead. Does that..." He coughed. "Does that make me a bad person?"

Spock was silent for so long, Jim figured that was his way of saying 'fuck off', and hung his head, pushing himself into a standing position. Before he could start on his way to the path, however, something - several thin, warm somethings - wrapped around his wrist for the barest of moments, just enough to catch his attention, and let go almost immediately.

Jim turned, startled, and found Spock standing as well, an intense look on his face.

"No, Kirk. It does not."

Jim blinked. Relief began to trickle through his shaking limbs and, for an instant, all Jim wanted to do was hug Spock, but he restrained himself because that was what girls did, and he was a guy, dammit. He had his masculine pride.

A grin split Jim's face and he began laughing, slow, simple chuckles evolving into full belly laughs with quickly degenerated into hysterical whoops that left him utterly breathless. Finally, after a few solid minutes, it began to subside and Jim crouched down, his arms wrapped around his naked torso, breathing the atmosphere that was just a bit thinner that Earth's like his life depended on it.

"Fascinating," Spock said. "I have never seen a reaction quite as intense in any experiment."

Jim blinked, and felt his earlier good mood shrivel and die. "Is that all this was? An experiment?" he snarled, shooting to his feet and crossing his arms to look more threatening, which had zero of its intended effect due to the fact Jim was smaller than Spock and still covered in blue patches.

"No. I was merely commenting that, out of all experiments I have conducted, there has never been a reaction so... enthusiastic as yours was to a simple logical reassurance."

Jim let out a breath, feeling drained after so many rapid mood swings. He flopped down on his butt, sighing loudly, and closed his eyes.

"You can call me Jim, if you want," the younger of the two said softly after a moment.

Spock nodded. "Jim." He chewed briefly on his lower lip and added in a low voice, "Thank you. For sharing that with me. It must have been difficult."

"Well, if I'm watching your back, you better know what's going on in here," Jim joked, rapping a knuckle on his skull. "That way, when I go nuts, you can get the hell outta dodge."

Spock's eyebrows crinkled together as he tried to piece together the logic of that statement. "I am uncertain what you are referring to," he said, cocking his head as he took a seat next to Jim's sprawling form. "'Get the hell outta dodge'?"

"It's like getting out of the way when something really mad is looking for something to kill," Jim explained, making an accompanying hand gesture to demonstrate. One was the person, one was a distorted animal, and the animal charged, along with a grunting sound effect. The person dodged the charge, and did a victory dance to celebrate, only to get gored from behind.

"Like a _le-matya _on the rampage," Spock said in a voice softer than normal, which became almost unbearable because it was so quiet in the first place. Jim quickly interpreted this as a sensitive subject and said nothing more.

For the first time since Jim had arrived on the planet, the two fell into a completely comfortable silence, content to simply be there, not really needing to talk, with respect filling the void. Jim knew that Spock could pick apart the problem and was easier to relate to, and Spock knew Jim felt what he felt, and that he was no longer alone. There was peace, apart from Jim scooting under a rock for the shade. Spock fell into meditation and Jim let the heat lull him into a state of near-sleep.

It was nearly dusk when Spock opened his eyes and murmured, "Kir - Jim. It is approaching the time for the evening meal. We must return home. Mother and Father will be expecting us."

Jim nodded and yawned, standing up so suddenly he hit his head on the rock with a thump. Muttering curses under his breath, he picked up his dignity as well as his shirt - which had fallen off when the knot untied - and followed behind Spock as they headed back down the path.

Something rustled behind them and they froze, fear creeping up and down Jim's spine in a shiver. "Just can't get a break, can we?" he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Apparently not," Spock agreed, and despite the fact something big was following them, Jim smiled.

With a crash and a patter of rocks dropping, something large and furry dropped on Spock, smothering any protests as its massive paws slammed his head into the rocky ground, knocking him out instantly. Jim backed away, searching for a weapon: a sharp rock, a stick, anything.

The big fuzzy thing reared its head back and let out a low groan, its fangs flashing in the fading sunlight. Jim could only watch with wide eyes as it opened its mouth and prepared to take a chunk out of Spock.

Jim let out a wild yell and leaped, fists flying as he beat at the beast's back, only succeeding in making it mad. It reared up on its back legs, roaring in anger, and took off at a dead run, slamming into the sides of the cliffs as it tried to scrape the annoying fly off its back. Jim held on for all he was worth, tearing at the thing with his nails and teeth, with little result. The shaggy fur that covered its body served to protect it from Jim's attacks.

It circled around, still howling, and tore through the carefully tended flowers surrounding the pool, filling the clear water with clods of dirt. Jim couldn't spare any time to mourn, however, because they were stampeding down the path where the unconscious body of Spock lay. Jim tried tugging on the fur to steer it away, but the thing was in a rage and could not be reasoned with.

"Argh, goddamn this stupid thing!" Jim screeched and gripped the beast tighter with his knees, clasping both his hands together and bringing them down again and again on the thing's skull, raining blows on the most sensitive part of most any being.

Jim was thrown violently off its back when it went limp and plowed into the ground, tearing up a great gouge of dirt and rock as it crashed to a halt. Jim groaned and rolled over, blinking stars out of his sight, and gave a cocky half-grin when the beast didn't move. He stood, brushed his pants off, and tossed a happy smile over his shoulder to Spock.

Except Spock was still out, laying limply on the ground. Jim rushed over, gently feeling around his neck for a pulse. After a moment, a paralyzing moment in which he couldn't find the place he remembered the movie people pressing, he found the artery and the slow pulse that layered under the heat made him feel just a little better, but it felt a lot slower than his.

No one was around to help them; if they had been, they'd have come running when the beast started baying. But the little spring was fairly secluded, the way Spock was, so they were alone.

"Alright," Jim said, taking a calming breath. "Firstly, make sure Spock is alive. Check. Secondly, get us home. Okay, which way did we come from?" He looked desperately back and forth as if the rocks around them held the key, but his hopes were dashed as they remained silent as ever. "Up you go," Jim grunted, and grabbed an arm and leg and swung Spock onto his back, grunting with the effort. He didn't look heavy, but Spock weighed more than he did.

Staggering a bit under his heavy and hot burden, Jim began to slowly make his way down the path, gritting his teeth as he dropped to his knees to catch his breath. After a few minutes of walking, he heard a heady snort and fear pulsed through his veins: the thing was awake, and probably pissed off at him.

He walked faster, sweat pouring down his brow, and the snuffling became louder, followed by a furious roar as the thing discovered its prey had escaped. Jim tore through the brush, letting out a moan as one thorn sank into his arm and left a bloody gash behind. The pain was forgotten as the beast came down after them, navigating the rocky terrain far more skillfully than Jim could ever dream of doing.

"Help! Help!" Jim screamed, his legs quaking from sheer terror and exhaustion. He'd been known to do stupid things, but not while someone else was in danger, and nothing that could actually result in his death. Just come close, that's all.

Jim ran through the street, screaming for help, and the beast followed, ripping up the neat and even street as its claws dug in for purchase. All around Jim, lights began to flick on as Vulcans began streaming out of their homes and restaurants to see what all the ruckus was about.

"A wild _sehlat_," someone called, and an officer of Starfleet (evidenced by his familiar light blue shirt) pulled a phaser out of its holster and calmly shot the thing several times in the side. It went down, moaning, and with a shuddering breath, died.

Jim very distantly felt his knees hit the ground and saw the world tilt, spin, and finally fade to black.

* * *

It was a little while later that Jim and Spock awoke, peeling off cold packs from their foreheads and throwing back blankets to get up and examine their injuries. Jim had a pressure bandage around his arm and the cream for the rash slathered everywhere, which he wiped off with a grunt and one hand clamped around his nostrils - it smelled awful, like something crawled into the sun and died.

Spock put the pieces together immediately, though his initial conjecture was an adult heard the _sehlat _utilizing its hunting call and killed it after it knocked him out. Feeling slightly ashamed and feeling a fresh twinge of grief which he stifled at once he pressed a hand to his head and made sure the bandage was still recent enough not to require changing.

Both boys slowly made their way downstairs where Amanda and Sarek were conversing in low, tense tones at the table, dinner cold and forgotten. Jim piped up first, "Um, what happened? And why was I up there, and not in the living room like I normally was?"

Amanda rose quickly to her feet and walked around the table, a look of pure joy on her face as she swept both boys into a hug, hands on their heads as she wept happily. "You have no idea- I was terrified- and the attack- you two are so lucky-" She drew back, kneeling down so she was a little shorter than them and smiled, blinking back tears. Then, in the way of mothers, she became angry, very, very quickly.

"What on earth were you thinking?" she said sternly, her voice kept at barely below the shouting level. "You two could have been killed, or injured, and Spock..." She sent him a look full of pain. "I know you must be hurting, but that's no reason to go exploring where its dangerous!"

Spock bowed his head. "I apologize, Mother. It was foolish of me to place James in a situation resulting in my incapacitation. We could have easily been killed, just as you said." Jim remained stubbornly silent, and Spock shot him a look.

"Yeah, me too," he grumbled. "It wasn't Spock's fault, or mine, Mrs. Amanda! We were just going up to-"

"To where?"

Jim chewed on the inside of his cheek, at a loss for words. He didn't want to reveal Spock's secret place, though it'd been pretty much ruined. But it was a secret, and he was no tattler. "I wanted to see the cliffs, and Spock took me up there, and we were just heading home when that thing attacked."

Amanda sighed and flicked her eyes upwards. "You were lucky that all you've received are minor injuries," she said in a warning tone. "And you both are grounded. Straight to school and straight back home, understand?"

They both nodded, though Jim's was a bit more sullen than Spock's. Then the words seemed to click in his brain and he said in a whining voice, "I have school?"

Spock's mother sighed heavily and rubbed at her temple with a few fingers. "Yes, but the Vulcan Academy was insistent that you be placed in the first level, so you'll be with the youngest students until you can prove you're ready to move up."

Jim's face screwed up and for a moment she thought he was going to burst into tears, but she underestimated the pride of a ten year old and watched as he merely shrugged and nodded.

"Now, eat your dinner, then straight up to bed with both of you," Amanda ordered and watched as they both scrambled to obey.

Even out of her element, Amanda thought as she settled herself into her seat and held her fingers out for Sarek to touch, she was still a mother, and children still listened to her. This was going to be an interesting experience for everyone.

---

**Notes:** Again, thanks for all the feedback! Look at that, I ask for suggestions, and I get a ton of reviews. Amazing. Keep 'em coming, because I'm beginning to think maybe one or at most two chapters a year as the two get older. Like that plan? Give me a yea or nay or a better idea. I don't mind.

A note on the kids: I've seen and experienced that, even if you don't know someone very well, if they're your age and you know them better than an adult, that's who you'll tell, especially if you need to relieve your conscience like Jim did. Poor Jim, good thing you have nice people to live with now. :)

Leave a review if you liked it, and good news! Over forty people put this on their favorites! How sweet!

I don't own, don't bite my head off.

Lastly, it's my birthday today! Yay! I'm seventeen! So old... -runs off to sulk in a corner- Have a nice day, then.


	6. six

**One Year Later**

**Spock - 12 Jim - 11**

The halls of the Vulcan Academy of Learning were high and imposing, patterned in geometric tiles that had various Vulcan words for learning and wisdom spiralling across the floor like musical notes. Standing stiffly outside one of the many doors along the hall was a young Vulcan, his eyes flicking back and forth as he tried not to exhibit signs of boredom. It was not working well.

Spock shifted his weight to his other foot, giving a polite nod to a passing instructor, who turned and began conversing in near-silent tones with his companion. Spock let out a breath, beginning to wonder if Jim was ever going to get out of class.

The past year, Jim had been attending the Academy as well as his friend, though he'd been forced to start at the lowest level with the children. This had both good and bad results. On the positive side, Jim was being challenged and was learning far more than he ever thought he could, which was probably one reason he hadn't done as well in school on Terra.

But, on the other hand, Jim simply would not cease his complaining about how 'none of his classmates were taller than my waist and how they all could drop me if they wanted'. It was a source of never-ending fury that something so small could be so powerful.

Another thing, Spock mused as he set his jaw and restlessly crossed his arms over his chest, then quickly put them down once more, was that because there was more to be learned, the class got out later. And, as his mother had stressed, since he was older, it was his responsibility to watch out for Jim, even if he was bound and determined to break his neck at every corner.

The great door swung open slowly and soundlessly, spilling a torrent of small Vulcan children out into the formerly empty hall. At the tail end of the flood was Jim, though he did not appear to be moving forward, instead conversing with the instructor. Spock raised an eyebrow as Jim's hand motions became steadily more and more violent and agitated. Finally, the human threw his arms up and stomped out, muttering curses under his breath as the teacher returned to mark the scores in the database; a process that was required to be manual, just in case.

"You are angry," Spock observed as Jim struck off down the hall, teeth grinding and eyes sparking.

"That stupid jerk won't let me prepare for the test!" he snapped, and ran a hand through his hair. "I know he's gonna put it all in Vulcan. I suck at Vulcan!"

Spock shook his head. "I cannot sympathize. Vulcan was my first language. If you require assistance, I am willing to review anything you feel you... 'suck' at." The barest hint of humor made his eyes glint and Jim gave him a bright grin.

"I'd appreciate that," he agreed, and launched into a tirade of how obvious it was that his teacher hated him and everything he did, even when he did better than a lot of the students that were pure Vulcans, and how the test to jump a level was going to come when he least expected it, and how he wouldn't get any prior knowledge of what it was going to cover.

"You must be prepared for the unexpected," Spock pointed out as the pair exited the building, Jim blinking at the sudden flare of sunlight. "I am unfamiliar with the customs of Earth, but it is not unreasonable from your reaction to infer there was a set test date and a review period."

"Well, duh," Jim drawled. "And it was never in a foreign language, either." He turned his head away briefly to send a wink towards one of the several young Vulcan girls lining the streets, looking at trinkets or poetry scrolls, and when no sultry smile was forthcoming, he sighed and looked back forlornly at Spock.

"Vulcan is our native language," Spock reminded him as they took a turn onto their street and made their way to the oddly sophisticated carved dwelling they lived in. "If one chose to view the issue from a different perspective, they could say you are being treated especially kindly, for many of our tests are in languages much more difficult than Standard or Vulcan."

"You always take their side," Jim snarked as he threw the door open. "We're home!" he shouted happily. "Just in time for something to eat, please and thanks?"

The house remained silent. While not expected, it was nothing worth worrying over. Throwing his lunch bag down next to his shoes, Jim quickly crossed the threshold and wandered around the kitchen, looking for a note.

"Dear Spock and Jim," Spock began reading aloud, causing Jim to start and turn. He was standing over at the table, holding a PADD in one hand. "We had some business to take care of concerning the new flagship the Federation is building on Earth. While Sarek is optimistic, I know how these things tend to drag, so don't expect us home for perhaps a week, maybe more." There was a pause, and Jim could just imagine Amanda giving a sardonic grin and rolling her eyes. "Spock is in charge, so don't be getting into lots of trouble, James. Remember, no junk food after school, and get to bed at a decent time. Love you both and see you soon."

"Aw," Jim whined, slumping against the counter, "you're always in charge, that's no fair!"

"I'm older," Spock said, and the tiniest bit of smugness crept onto his face, turning the corners of his mouth up and making his eyes laugh. "So it is only logical."

"Logic my ass, I'm getting some food," Jim announced and hopped over to the replicator. "What do you want, chips or something?"

"Mother requested specifically that we consume no junk food!"

"Amanda isn't here, now is she?" Jim said with a devilish grin. He began pressing buttons and was rewarded quickly when it pinged and something slid out, a bowl nearly overflowing with some kind of frosted pink substance Spock was unfamiliar with.

The older boy approached hesitantly, as if he feared it would leap out and attack him. "What... is that?"

"It's ice cream." Jim gave Spock a strange look. "You've never eaten ice cream before?"

"We do not consume sustenance for leisure, merely for nutrition," Spock recited flatly, but that familiar look had entered his eyes and Jim knew he had him. "Fascinating," he said quietly. "It is a frozen pasteurization of various dairy products."

Jim quickly dug around in a nearby drawer and pulled out a pair of spoons. He tossed one to Spock who caught it out of reflex and stabbed it into the pink mess, carving out a chunk and popping it into his mouth with relish. "'S re'y go'," he said through a mouthful, grinning. Some dribbled down his chin and Jim swiped it off with his sleeve.

"I... Perhaps one bite," Spock conceded, and, not wanting to be outdone, took an even bigger bite out of the bowl and stuffed it in his mouth, swallowing almost instantly.

"You shouldn't eat it so fast," Jim warned, pointing his spoon at Spock. "You might get-"

Spock's eyes crossed and he keeled over backwards, hands flying up to grip his head as a low sound rumbled in his chest. Jim let the spoon drop from his fingers, hitting the floor with a loud clatter, and dived down to make sure Spock was okay. The half-Vulcan was paler than usual, his face rigid in his efforts to stifle the pain.

"Sorry," Jim said sheepishly. "I forgot to warn you. Sometimes if you eat it too fast, you get brain freeze. Don't ask me why they call it that, I'm sure you'll start your science talk about how you can't actually freeze a brain, but it has to do with nerves and stuff."

Spock said nothing, only squeezed his eyes shut and continued to massage his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

It was like that several hours later, except Jim had managed to convince Spock to stagger up to bed, where he now lay with his pillow over his face and all the lights off. Jim sat next to him on his bed, which Amanda had thoughtfully bought when it was agreed he was going to stay.

"Feeling any better?" Jim whispered.

Spock grunted, which was his favored form of saying 'shut up, I'm still mad at you even though I don't feel that particular human emotion'. He did, however, lift the pillow off and sit up, taking a deep breath and cracking his eyes open.

"How was I supposed to know you guys have more nerves to fry?" Jim said incredulously. "And even if it had happened, I didn't think it would last this long. I've said it a million times, I'm sorry!"

"You've only said it thirty-four times," Spock replied tartly.

"It was an accident," Jim insisted, a frown creasing his face. "Stop stressing out, alright? No one was here to see your face get all scrunched up." He reached over and grabbed a book from under his bed, crossing his legs and flicking it open after flicking on a light, an intent look replacing his annoyance. "You really... just... need to relax..." Jim trailed off, already absorbed in his studies.

Spock set his jaw and rolled over, unwilling to partake in the efforts of aiding Jim in studying, not after he had inadvertantly incapitated him for the better part of the afternoon. He was all set for ignoring him for the rest of the evening, and he distinctly got the feeling Jim knew what he was doing, until about ten minutes later when Jim slid off the bed and wandered over, eyes still glued to the basic level of Vulcan text.

"What does this one mean?" Jim asked quietly, pointing at a flowing mark.

Dark eyes scanned the text and Spock murmured, "_T'hy'la_. It means brother, friend, or-" He hesitated. "Lover."

Their eyes met.

Everything was quiet.

"Do you think that'll be on the test?" Jim asked.

Spock blinked. "It is hard to tell," he hedged. "All tests are different, and the material in the test itself can have much variety. I would advise studying anything you are unsure of."

"So, like, biology and history and Vulcan?"

"If that is what you feel needs to be worked on, then go ahead. I require rest." With that, Spock turned away, closing his eyes and dropping into a meditative trance that he used to precede his sleep. He cleared his thoughts, and within moments, he was out, the ice cream headache a forgotten, but still unpleasant, experience.

Jim continued to peruse his books, intent on passing this test, if only so he could catch up to his friend and show him up. Blue eyes continued to scan pages late into the night, and even past the time when he'd have normally gone to bed. He hadn't stayed up this late in over a year, since that day - well, it wasn't a pleasant reminder, but he did it nonetheless.

When Spock awoke the next morning, his eyes snapping open and sitting up abruptly, he was only slightly surprised Jim was laying on top of his bed, drooling into a history book. Letting out a silent sigh, the half-Vulcan completed the necessary hygienic ritual and only then went to wake his friend, who had rolled over and was now sprawled across the sheet, his feet just brushing the floor.

"Jim." All he got was a slight grunt. "Jim," Spock repeated, a little more insistently.

Still nothing.

"There is an exceptionally beautiful female waiting in the kitchen," Spock tried instead.

Jim rocketed awake, his eyes snapping open as he tumbled off the bed, rummaging around for a fresh pair of pants as he darted into the 'fresher and hurriedly brushed his teeth, just barely managing to spike his hair with water from the sink before he was on the move again, running downstairs so fast Spock raised his eyebrows. "That worked surprisingly well," he noted to himself.

Blinking, Spock made his own way to the kitchen at a little more sedate pace, giving Jim a neutral look as the human moaned over the falsehood. "I thought you guys couldn't tell lies," Jim said accusingly, pointing an ink-stained finger in Spock's direction.

"Vulcans do not tell lies because lies are illogical," Spock said instead as he moved around Jim and began the process of acquiring his breakfast. "I knew that without the proper encouragement, you would have overslept, and bemoaned your inconsistent studying habits until the next opportunity to take this test. I was simply taking the most logical course of action by waking you in the only way you would respond to."

"Jerk," Jim muttered and said, "I want pancakes!"

"You will get whole wheat toast, as we consume every morning," Spock insisted, and handed Jim a plate with two forlorn looking pieces of bread, both looking rather soggy. "Just because we are alone does not mean we can act foolishly."

"So says you," Jim grumped, shoving one whole piece in his mouth and grimacing at the sharp taste. "What did they do, put sand on it?" he complained.

"It is a nutritional supplement," Spock said in between bites of his own toast. "The doctor is stepping you off the pills at our evening meal, instead having it as powder on your morning sustenance."

"It tastes horrible," Jim announced, but choked down the second piece reluctantly and stood. "Ready for this?" he said, bouncing up and down. "Before you know it, I'm gonna be up on your level, then, when you least expect it - wham! Soaring right past you!" Barely able to contain himself, he slipped his shoes on and darted out the door.

Spock mentally rolled his eyes, finished his own breakfast, and followed after him, his footsteps making quiet pats on the sidewalk. Spock was beginning to wonder if Jim had run the entire way to the Academy - not unusual, but in the heat, a difficult task - when quiet thumps reached his sensitive ears. Not allowing the worry he felt to show on his face, he quickened his steps and located the source.

Jim was propped up against the side of a building, clearly unconscious, with a bruise flowering to life across one cheek and his face clenched in pain. Spock allowed himself another brief glance and took in the rest of the situation.

"There is little doubt you have chosen a far different path than what our ancestors have promoted," Spock said evenly.

The three bullies that had tormented him for the better part of his life turned and appraised him with critical eyes. "It seems that you have been keeping company with a human," the tallest one said, changing topics swiftly. "More so than usual."

"Jim is a victim-guest," Spock replied. "Our customs will not change, even if the victim-guest is human. We respect them and endeavor to provide emotional and mental stability so one may recover from trauma."

"Perhaps living with a human mother has blinded you," the first one tossed back. "You cannot perceive the infiltration of our culture and traditions by humans. They will corrupt us, as they have done so to themselves hundreds of times in their history."

Spock took a step closer to Jim, but the two silent cronies tensed and moved forward to cut him off. "Your tone suggests that is not the only reason you have ambushed and used the nerve pinch on him."

His throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed, looking for an opening, but when none were forthcoming, Spock settled in to hear the - most likely illogical - reasoning behind the attack.

"Your hypothesis is true," the tall one admitted shamelessly. "My sibling is falling behind in the work requirements, no doubt daunted by the abilities of the human as he excels. By not showing up for the test to move up a level, my brother will find the test easy and will pass."

There was a moment when Spock wanted to burst out laughing, followed swiftly by one where he wanted to punch the Vulcan in the face. He restrained both these urges, favoring a raised brow. No one spoke, and no one moved.

"Highly illogical," Spock said softly. "If I may, I will take Jim?"

"No."

Spock paused, one arm out and already bent over, slowly straightened and said, "Pardon?"

"Leave him here. It will not harm him; there is shade. When he regains consciousness, he will go home, and that will be the end," the bully said, and glanced speculatively down his nose at Spock.

"You are acting out of spite," the younger half-Vulcan accused. "For all your emotional training, you cannot help but react out of prejudice. That is appalling behavior for a pure-blooded Vulcan as yourself." Dark eyes flicked over Jim's slack face and became hard, returning to meet the bully's lighter ones.

"'S okay, Spock," a tired voice groaned, and all four turned around in surprise as Jim picked himself off the ground carefully, one hand splayed on the wall for balance and the other clutching the area between his neck and shoulder. "Didn't hurt that much."

"I do not understand," the tall one said, taking a step back in case the human had an emotional outburst and attacked like some kind of wild, ravenous beast. "The nerve pinch affected you. It should last approximately an hour."

Jim grinned, which was offset by his purple and swollen half of his face. "Well, I don't know how that happened, but I'm sure as hell happy about it!"

With that, he shoved himself off the wall, taking off swinging at the nearest crony, his fist colliding into the surprised Vulcan's nose and spraying green blood everywhere. Without pausing to revel in his new knowledge - that's what the green tiles were for! - he stuck his leg out and planted a hand on his sternum, sending him toppling over and landing with a thump on the ground.

The second charged, fingers arched as he tried to grab the nerve again, but Jim tucked his chest to his knees and swung his foot out in an arc, catching him in the side and sending him stumbling away, gasping for breath. Then, in a move completely unexpected, Spock joined in, clamping his hand around the other Vulcan's collar, making his eyes roll up into his head and collapse, as if boneless.

Jim cocked an eyebrow and held his fists out. "You want some?" he said, twitching his fingers in a 'come hither' gesture. "Please. Even on Earth you gave a guy some warning before jumping him."

"You speak from experience," Spock murmured. "But it is not Earth, as we have ascertained many times since you arrived."

"True," Jim agreed, and his smile vanished as he focused once again on the bully. "I'm taking that test, and I'm gonna pass, and I'm going to catch up to Spock, and there is nothing you can do about it. Understand?"

Even though his opponents were half his weight each and one was physically weaker, they both had more experience fighting and could, most likely, take him down fairly quickly. Letting his breath hiss out from between his teeth, he nodded and turned one heel to stalk off.

Jim let out a whoop and held up his hand, a grin stretching his face uncomfortably. Spock glanced at the upraised limb, then looked back at Jim. "It's called a high-five," he explained quickly. "You do it to celebrate when something awesome happens." He took his other hand and slapped it, miming the usual action. "Nah, forget it," Jim said when Spock continued to look at him as if he were a nasty bug (but minus the emotion, of course, which had the effect of Spock looking at him with a blank face but the general sense of it).

"We should move quickly if we hope to make it to the Academy on time," Spock said after the silence replaced Jim's attempt at human humor. "It is fortunate you rushed out of the house twelve minutes early, or else we would be late."

"Really? How long was I out?"

"Five or six minutes, I am unsure. Come," Spock said, and left, walking at a hurried pace towards the school, Jim following close behind, both intent on getting to school on time.

"How come I didn't stay unconscious for long?" Jim asked after a minute of catching his breath from the sudden start.

"I... do not know," Spock admitted, looking at the ground briefly as if embarrassed. "I suspect it has to do with a combination of the vaccines you received and the vitamin supplement, but I have no evidence with which to support my theory."

Jim made a dismissing noise in the back of his throat and winced as he touched his injured cheek. "Soon as we go home, I'm gonna get an ice pack and some popcorn and veg," he said quietly. "And maybe start planning..."

Before Spock could enquire what, exactly, Jim would be planning, the front gate to the Academy loomed in front of them, familiar spirals swirling across its dark wooden surface. Jim stared at them, mouth open, as his mind sluggishly connected the engraved markings with words he'd studied the night previously, but a tap on his hand brought his attention back to the present and he jogged inside, separating at a fork in the halls and waving to Spock.

Jim continued down his hall, counting the doors and nearly jumping when he almost passed it. "Must've missed more sleep than I thought," he muttered to himself. Shaking his head, he opened the door and slipped inside, looking around for the instructor. When unable to locate the man, he instead sulked over to his bowl, slid down, and got ready.

He had a feeling today was gonna be the day, even if that stuffy old bat had told him it could be any time. Jim listened to his gut, and it rarely let him down.

The program started with its usual routine of asking his name and going over what they had learned the day before in a quick quiz, which Jim passed, but only just barely. His mind was still on the encounter between the bullies and himself; he wished he'd been awake to hear what Spock said that distracted them so. It must've been something big. Maybe he insulted their parents.

Jim had to shove his fist into his mouth to keep the laughing to a near-silent level: the idea of Spock, stuffy old Spock, insulting anyone was too hilarious to really comprehend.

He answered a question without really thinking and, all of the sudden, the program cut out, flashing off and starting up with something completely different. Instead of the normal light blue, the information that spread out across the bowl was a dark red, almost impossible to make out against the depression walls. Jim blinked, rubbed tiredly at one eye, and listened as the computer began explaining the rules for the test.

It was essentially he had to answer every question within the set time limit, or else it was marked wrong, and it would be covering the information presented in this level and the next. That surprised Jim, but once he thought about it, it made sense.

Without any further preamble, it began, but not in Standard, instead in the garbled and halting - yet strangely flowing, like music - language of the native people. Jim suppressed a groan and rubbed one temple.

The thing itself took over two hours, and it switched languages and topics as often as Jim switched the object of his latest fascination. By the end, Jim was close to tears, because he'd studied so damn hard for this thing, but he was sure none of this stuff had been touched upon because he'd not even seen it that one day in Spock's level.

At least it ended with something he knew.

"List the three definitions of the word _t'hy'la_."

"Friend, brother, lover," Jim replied tiredly.

"Correct. Congratulations, James Kirk, ninety percent." He was surprised; there were so many questions overall that the ones he missed must have counted for practically nothing.

Finished for the day, he exited his learning pit with the rest of the class, watching with distaste how easily the smaller Vulcan children met up with their friends and debated the finer points of the day's work. At least Spock would be waiting for him when Jim was finished, he thought with a smile. Someone to talk to, someone to share things with, someone to argue with. Being alone wasn't as fun as the holos made it out to be.

"Ah, 'scuse me, sir," Jim called, and the instructor turned to regard him with cold eyes.

"Is there something you wished to discuss, James?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, about the test. It had a lot of stuff I didn't understand, maybe you got it mixed up with one of the higher levels? I'm pretty sure they don't cover some of those languages until fourth or fifth level, at least." He opened his eyes wider, hoping to get his baby blues to soften up the old man.

It didn't work. "You are insinuating I have made a mistake. I assure you, I have not. In fact, you scored the lowest on the test. I'm afraid you will be forced to repeat this level."

Jim's jaw dropped. "I got a ninety. That's ten percent off of a hundred! You can't hold me back for that! And no one else had a hard test like me!"

The teacher was unfazed, however, and briefly entered something onto the handheld PADD he was holding. "Perhaps next time you will endeavor to study harder." With that, before Jim could call him back and demand a re-take, he strode off, weaving around the pits and leaving a shell-shocked Jim behind.

Jim blinked, and distantly felt his body turn and head back outside, pushing past the children still crowding the hall and slowly breaking into a gradual jog, then a flat-out run as he ducked his head, frustrated tears gathering in his eyes, bursting outside and heading for the secret path Spock had shown him a year ago, threading through the bushes with practiced ease and climbing up the path, occasionally lashing out with a physical blow to the rocks.

When he arrived at the pool, he crawled into his usual spot, underneath an outcropping of rock where the shade made for good cover. There, he folded his knees up and tucked his chin into the space between them, wrapping his arms around his shins and just... sitting. His mind was blank. He didn't want to think.

He'd spent all that time bragging about how well he was going to do, but it hadn't done him any good. He'd studied, and he'd learned, and he'd grovelled for the chance to take a test to skip a grade instead of just moving up one like the rest, and he'd failed, and now he was going to be stuck with a bunch of new little kids who could care less about the human.

It wasn't fair! He had to work for the grades and marks he got; those other kids could look at something once and they'd remember it... then again, so could he, but his mind wasn't as organized as theirs were, and it took him longer to recall information for a question. One hand balled itself into a fist and he slammed it down, sending a little wave of rocks into the pool, making the fish scatter.

Jim remembered the days after the attack. He'd spent all of his free time fixing it up, making sure the plants that had survived were well-tended and healthy again, so their vibrant colors could shine once more. Jim had surprised Spock with its repair; Spock had accepted that it had been torn up and had let it go, in the way of Vulcans not actually having many possessions, but he was pleasant about finding it in decent shape. They came up most every day, to sit and talk, or do homework, or just relax.

But that didn't have much to do with book smarts, Jim thought darkly.

"I take it from your general disposition that the test did not go very well," Spock said quietly, only slightly startling Jim, who turned and bit his lip as Spock came and sat next to him.

"Not really, no," he agreed. "But it was really difficult. There were at least four different languages, and culture, and history, and I bullshitted most of it, but I got a few wrong. I only missed ten percent, and they said they're gonna hold me back."

Spock's eyebrows disappeared under his bangs. "Four? I did not take a level test with four languages until my fifth year."

Jim's eyes narrowed and he felt his nails bite through the skin of his palms. "They cheated me," he said flatly, his eyes dull.

Spock's eyes dropped to the pool. "It would appear so."

"Figures," Jim said bitterly. "I try and do one thing decent, and they won't let me. I'm so sick of this!" Jim pounded the ground again, helplessness and anger washing over him. "I know they hate me because I'm human," he whispered to his knees. "Even if they're full of that I don't feel emotions crap. This sucks."

"Indeed," Spock agreed. Then a thought seemed to occur to him, and he stood fluidly. "You stay here," he instructed. "Try and calm yourself." He took off before Jim could follow. He stuck his arm out as if to say 'don't leave'; but it went limp as silence descended in a choking blanket over the serene little oasis.

Jim began dozing, hazy images of his mother and brother dancing behind his closed lids, and when he jerked himself awake, the sun was beginning to set, though dusk had not yet fallen. Keenly aware of the probable outcomes of staying out past nightfall, he began picking his way down the path and almost ran into Spock, who had been trekking upwards with his head down.

"Spock!"

"Jim."

They both stopped, confusion drawing Jim's brows together, as he said, "What was that for? You just up and left, and we need to get back, or we might get attacked again. I dunno about you, but it wasn't a pleasant thing I'd like to do again."

"You passed," Spock said abruptly. "You are now at the third level of education. I advised for the fourth, but they declined."

Jim almost hugged him, but only at the last moment did he stop himself and settled for grasping Spock's shoulders and smiling his charming smile. "Thank you, Spock!"

"You are most welcome, Jim."

"Thank you... _t'hy'la._ Friend." Dark eyes met blue and the pair headed back home, content.

---

**Notes: **Thanks for all the reviews and well-wishings! I appreciate your guy's support. I've been getting a bunch of ideas (which I still need, by the way) and I'm trying to weave them all in their childhood years.

Tell me how it's going! Give a review, favorite it, do something, I really don't mind. It brings smiles to my face.

Nothing else to report. I don't own it still, and tell me what you think, if everyone's in character, what you'd like to see more, what you think I could improve, etc. Have a good weekend, I'll update again hopefully on Tuesday (or Monday, but don't get your hopes up). Bye!


	7. seven

**One Year Later**

**Spock - 13 Jim - 12**

If there was one thing Spock had learned about Jim, it was that he enjoyed being the center of attention. He seemed to preen under all the comments of how intelligent he was, and how well he did at a particular task, or something of the like. He never wasted any opportunity to show off his good looks and roguish charms, trying to woo the girls even though he was still an adolescent.

Which was why, one morning as they sat at their pool enjoying the day off from school activities, Spock observed his friend with more than a little concern. Jim, who would normally be bouncing about, talking of whatever flitted through his mind, was sitting under his rock, shoulders slumped, and silent. Two smears of purple under his eyes added to the somber look.

"Is there something bothering you, Jim?" Spock finally asked, interrupting his own meditation (though he hadn't been doing a decent job anyways, focusing on Jim and the oddities in his behavior instead of his emotions and his central processes) to satisfy his curiosity.

"No," Jim said flatly. His eyes remained locked on the ground in front of him, and he did not elaborate.

"You have not been receiving the required amount of rest for your species, you have been acting strangely lethargic, and have been uncharacteristically short with everyone, including myself and Mother," Spock recited dutifully.

"It's none of your business," Jim snarled, and for the first time in a week, a spark of something entered his eyes. Instead of something nice, however, it quickly revealed itself to be anger and Jim tensed, his hands clenching into fists. "Just leave it be."

"It becomes my business when you fail to treat others with the respect they deserve," Spock shot back, and stood, using his new-found height advantage to attempt at intimidation. He'd grown in the past year, even if it was only a few inches. The point was, he was taller than Jim, and he was going to use that to his best advantage, which at the moment was wheedling out whatever was causing Jim to act the way he was.

"Fuck off, Spock," Jim snapped, and twisted himself around so he was facing away from his friend, instead making eye contact with a lovely slab of rock. His glare, now redirected, could have melted through the stone had his emotions manifested. Luckily enough for both of them, they didn't, and the natural barrier surrounding their secret place remained unbroken.

"I will not," the half-Vulcan insisted, and strode over, crouching down next to Jim. "Your emotions are creating a headache that is increasingly harder to ignore the longer you contain your feelings." He stared at Jim's back, the controlled look he normally favored breaking for just an instant as his jaw tensed.

Jim ducked his head and mumbled something not even Spock could understand with his superior hearing. When he reluctantly asked Jim to speak up, the younger boy whirled around, tears sparkling unshed in his eyes, and shouted, "It's been two years, alright? I miss my mom and my brother and I want to visit their grave like we used to visit Dad's!" He dropped his chin, ashamed.

Something of a rivalry had sparked between the pair, one which encouraged Jim to do his best to beat his older friend at everything they did. This quickly proved to be mostly one-sided as Spock was already several levels ahead of Jim (a gap that was steadily shrinking due to Jim's voracious appetite for all things knowledgeable) and had a monopoly on physical superiority. Thus left the emotional control: Spock was steadily gaining better control over his human instincts and urges, and Jim tried to do his best as well.

Sometimes. Others, he was just himself, a goofball with a brain to match his good looks.

Jim turned back around to face him, a quiet sigh escaping and ringing in Spock's ears. "I just wanted to get away," he said miserably. "I didn't even think about them. Last year I was sick and completely delirious for a week before and after. I know they're dead and wishing them alive won't work, but..."

"You seek the closure you have not yet had the opportunity to get," Spock finished, and Jim's head bobbed up and down.

"Yeah, I guess," he mumbled. "You guys don't even have anything to watch the news feeds with. What if they were wrecked? What if they're still there? What happened if the house burned down?" His voice rose in pitch and intensity until he was ranting at the half-Vulcan, gesticulating and shaking with repressed sobs. "What if the government took their bodies? What if they don't get buried? What if-"

"That is enough," Spock said firmly, and briefly placed a warm hand on Jim's shoulder. The boy turned tearful blue eyes on him and sniffled, wiping his eyes and trying to compose himself.

Jim opened his mouth to thank Spock for just being there, in a way he'd come to adopt when Spock helped him - sadly a near-everyday occurrence - when a thought fired off in his brain, triggering a chain reaction that made for an almost comical display of facial expressions: depressed, furious, thoughtful, scheming, and finally joyous.

"I have an idea," Jim started, and Spock flicked his eyes upwards. Ancestors, how many bad plans had started with that simple sentance? Far too many to be comfortable with, Spock noted with a slight downturn of his lips.

"I am not certain I am recovered from your last 'idea', Jim," Spock said sourly. "But, knowing your innate human stubbornness, you will undoubtedly ignore my logical warning and continue on."

Jim pretended Spock hadn't spoken. "Well, there are shuttles coming here all the time, right? We just sneak on, head off to Earth for a spell, I do my thing, we come back, and no one'll be any wiser. Sound good?" He sent Spock a hopeful look, the most emotion he'd shown for some time since his depression had struck.

Any disbelief Spock felt over the less-than-articulate plan of Jim's was not shown on his face. Instead, he remained silent, knowing that no amount of rational arguing on his part could change Jim's mind, though he still felt the need to do so. "Under normal circumstances, I would persuade you to explore other options, however, seeing as you are James Kirk, the universe will line up and bow at your feet, making everything almost too easy." The heavy sarcasm was not lost on his human counterpart.

"You think?" Not waiting for an answer, Jim slipped out from his hiding spot and stood, stretching his cramped limbs. "Never mind. Let's go, I bet there's a 'Fleet officer we could hop a beam with."

That, too, had become a competition, though one Spock adamantly refused to partake in. While Vulcan was a fairly remote planet, they got their fair share of Starfleet members coming down to rest, relax, or do research. Jim had concocted a nefarious game in which, when the group prepared to beam back up, he was to ambush them and see if it would beam him up as well.

It had not succeeded quite yet, due to the fact that if you moved while your coordinates were being set, you simply wouldn't be transported at all. This was the result Jim had encountered every time while trying to latch himself onto an unlucky being, and he usually ended up getting a stern talking-to about respect and other stuff he ended up tuning out.

Letting a small smile cross his face, Jim didn't wait for his friend to answer and simply started back down the path, moving across the rugged earth with skill born of practice. The spring was the only place he and Spock could get any privacy, or any quiet time. They went there rather often.

Spock belatedly followed, once again resigning himself to swooping in at the nick of time to rescue Jim from an unpleasant demise which usually ended up with one, or both, of them injured and bedridden. With Spock, he healed fast enough to make it bearable. With Jim...

Well, Spock was getting some wonderful lessons in patience and blocking out unwanted noise.

The pair threaded through the bushes that were beginning to get a bit overgrown and headed deeper into the commercial district of the city. Slowly the suburban sprawl re-organized itself into a logical procession of stores and restaurants, with the smells of baking food drifting around as various shopkeepers offered their wares to the streets. Jim invariably found his attention drifting and lamented his lack of spare pocket money. Spock said nothing, keeping his eyes glued to the sidewalk they continued their journey.

"Look, there's one now," Jim hissed, nodding to a human perusing a jewelry stand. He was facing away from them, the gold of his shirt glinting in the late afternoon sunlight. Jim straightened his shirt, patted some dust out of his hair, and on a thought, scooped some dirt off the ground and smeared it on his face. He turned to Spock, eyeing him with a critic's fashion sense.

"That collar has to go," Jim said, and Spock reluctantly pulled off his shirt, leaving him in the traditional black undershirt of Vulcan schoolchildren and a pair of pants. Jim handed him a fistful of grit and, when Spock just stared, made a motion with his hands to do as he did. Muttering soundlessly under his breath, Spock patted the dirt onto his face and sent Jim an irritated look.

"Last thing, I promise." Jim dug into his pocket and pulled out his hat. Grinning now, he held the battered bundle of black fabric out to Spock, who reluctantly held it in his hands, looking at his human friend forlornly.

"If you think I am going to wear this, then you are much less intelligent than the rest of Vulcan gives you credit for," Spock said tightly.

"We're going to play the pity card, Spock," Jim said, as if it was obvious, even though he hadn't given Spock more than the bare bones - the very, very, very bare bones - of this ridiculous plan. "Humans work better if two cute little human kids come begging, not one cute human kid and one stuck-up, arrogant, bossy, nagging, teenager alien."

"Which one am I?" Spock said blandly, and was rewarded by a dark look from Jim.

"Just put the hat on," Jim said exasperatedly, and snatched it out of his hands, unfolding it and jamming it over Spock's head, a movement made awkward by the latest height difference. One minor struggle later, as Spock tried to fight Jim off and Jim fought to get the skullcap in its proper position, and they separated, Spock glowering at Jim and Jim grinning at Spock, who looked positively hilarious with it on.

At least it covered the pointed ears and the upswing of his eyebrows. Jim knew firsthand how much prejudice could suck, and he wasn't risking it with this Starfleet officer. All the psych tests in the world couldn't give the bureaucrats reason to lock someone up for being a jerk. Much as they wished they could.

Ignoring the last unhappy look Spock gave him - in his own way, which was him being tense and sending burning stares in Jim's direction - Jim crept forward, morphing from confident and pleased to timid and scared. Very hesitantly he tugged on the Starfleet officer's shirt, looking up at the confused face with watery blue eyes. Internally, Spock was surprised. He was not aware humans could trade attitudes so quickly.

It might have been a Jim thing, though.

"'Scuse me, sir," Jim began, sniffing and looking at his feet. "We... we got lost... we were s'posed to go to Earth for a funeral, but we got on the wrong shuttle, and got separated from Mom and Auntie..."

"Well, aren't you a cute little thing," the man said, kneeling down so he was at eye level with Jim. "Lost, huh? Well, I'm glad to help. What's your mom's name, son?"

Jim paused, his mouth open, mind blank. While planning ahead wasn't his forte, he could lie on the spot. "Sir," he said, tears welling in his eyes, "I can't remember. I whacked my head real hard, my brother too-" Jim nodded to Spock, who did his best to look contrite, but failed "-and... and..." Jim dropped his head, heaving with fake sobs.

"It's okay, son, we'll get you on a shuttle back to Earth in no time. They have centers and alert stations for when this kind of things happen," the gold-shirt said in a soothing voice, rubbing calming circles in the small of Jim's back. He stood, grabbed Jim's hand in his, waited for a moment for Spock to do the same, but didn't press when the hand was not forthcoming, and started off to the transportation hub.

Jim leaned back, looking behind their unlucky victim to send a wink to Spock, who sent him an aggravated stare and turned away. Slightly put out at Spock's lack of enthusiasm, he looked forward, subdued.

The man led them around the market, pointing out little trinkets - he had a baby girl back home, and he was apparently a tactical officer on one of Starfleet's finest ships - and spouting a bunch of random other facts he thought pertinent towards the situation which only served to make Jim think about various pranks he could pull on said relatives/teachers/superior officers/guy next door who never remembers to shut his window while showering. They were led into the center for transportation, filled with bustling people and noise and stark whiteness, a severe difference to the muted browns of the natural landscape.

Just as Jim was beginning to think that perhaps this wasn't a good idea after all, the man used his free hand to pull out his communicator, which he spoke into for several minutes, finally shutting it with a harried groan.

He knelt down, taking the two boys by their shoulders - which Spock elegantly shrugged off after a moment - and said, regret shining in his eyes, "Sorry, kids, but I'm gonna have to take you to the lost children's booth. It's got a room in the back where you can get cleaned up and get something to eat, and we'll get your information and contact your mom and aunt. No worries, though, it'll all get sorted out eventually."

Locking an iron grip around Jim's wrist, he stood, and began dragging him to a friendly-looking desk where a woman sat, pencils in her hair for no real reason and popping her gum every now and then. The officer leaned on the sleek silver surface, throwing the receptionist his most charming smile. She gave him the ever-annoyed look of a teenager trying to waste time.

"Can I help you..." She lifted herself up, spotting the struggling Jim and the statue-esque Spock. "Sir?"

"Yes, ma'am, you might just be able to," he replied smoothly. "I've found these two brothers who were separated from some relatives. Said they were heading to Terra and must've boarded the wrong shuttle. Any information?"

"Step back here, please," she said in a bored voice, motioning with her chin for the kids to step up to the database reader.

"Uh, I gotta pee?" Jim offered.

"I need your name, age, and address of residence."

Jim chewed briefly on his lower lip and decided that, for once, the truth - or part of it, at least - was the best way to go. "My name's Jim. Well, James Kirk. I'm... nine. Yeah. And I live in Riverside, Iowa. Can I get a shuttle ticket please? My mom's gonna freak if we don't get there soon." It stung to use his mother as an excuse, but he shoved the hurt into a ball and set it aside for later. Right now, he needed to get home. He could apologize when he actually had the time.

"And him?"

Jim looked at Spock, who stared back in that particular blank way that meant he was annoyed. "His name is... Sam. He's my big brother, but he can't talk. Swallowed a piece of something that messed with his vocal stuff. He's... eleven?" He paused and nodded. "Yep, I got confused, he just turned eleven a few days ago. He lives with me."

Both adults stared down at them in disbelief.

The Starfleet officer broke the silence. "Either you really did bump your heads, or you think I'm a fool. I don't like being lied to."

Jim looked back and forth between the two, and, seeing no other option, shouted, "RUN!"

He and Spock took off, shoving through humans and aliens alike as they dashed away, hearts pumping and legs pounding on the floor of the transportation center. Jim spared a moment to look at the shuttle schedule, found exactly what he was looking for, and did an abrupt one-eighty, leaving Spock floundering to catch up.

"Where are we going?" Spock demanded as they continued to thread their way through the heavy traffic of bodies, ducking slightly so they would not be so easily spotted.

"There's a shuttle leaving for the _Ambassador_ in about ten minutes, and the gate's not far," Jim said between panting breaths. "If we lose the 'Fleet and his tag-along, we can hop on and-"

His train of thought was interrupted as Spock ducked into a closet, yanking sharply on Jim's shirt and dragging him in as well. The door slammed shut and not moments later the pair heard muted footsteps and barked instructions being issued by the same nice man they'd come upon. "This is foolish, Jim," Spock said quietly. "What about Mother and Father?"

Jim shrugged. "We get on Earth, we'll send them a message. Inter-planetary communications aren't that expensive and if no one's come scrounging in my house, I know where I kept my money."

"Jim..."

"Look, I know it's crazy, Spock, but I really wanna do this. Just trust me, alright?" Jim gave Spock a meaningful look. "I know it's not Vulcan like you want it, but I'm not like you. I keep ties to my past, and I enjoy being able to be happy or sad or pissed off when the situation calls for it. Or stubborn, which is how I am now, so deal, alright?"

"Wise words, for a stupid boy," Spock grumbled, pulling the cap lower over his forehead. "Do you want to get on that shuttle or not?"

Jim let out a yelp and scrambled to find the doorknob, knocking over various instruments of cleaning in his mad rush to get out of the closet. The pair tumbled out ungracefully, drawing attention and whispered accusations. Jim shot to his feet and took off running again, heading in the general direction towards the place they needed to get, Spock not far behind.

"Last call for boarding Shuttle A-834, en route to Atlanta, Georgia," a static-riddled voice boomed. Jim ignored his burning lungs and poured on another burst of speed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small round object. The gate was closing, and fast, the attendant talking into a small vid-screen on her desk. She spotted them and reacted immediately.

"Kids, you shouldn't be here, we're about to-"

There was a muted boom, and then a choking smokescreen filled the area. Under the cover of the homemade smog, Jim crept into the open hall and slipped into the shuttle, strapping himself in and grinning. Spock settled in next to him and sighed, though only Jim could hear it.

"What's wrong now, Spock?" Jim demanded. "We're on our way, no one got hurt, and we didn't even have to pay to get on!"

"How, exactly, do you suppose we will be getting home?"

Jim blinked.

"I... hadn't got that far."

"Exactly."

Jim turned his head the other way, looking out the nearest window and watching in awe as the blue of the sky faded and was replaced by millions of stars in a dark blanket. That itself made his rebuttal die on his lips. It was far more beautiful than he'd have cared to admit.

Space had been a sensitive topic in the Kirk household. Jim loved to look up at the stars, blue eyes bright with curiosity, but any dreams of going out there were quickly ground to dust when he realized the pain he caused his mother. It was only after asking did he truly understand; the circumstances of his birth and his father's death. Space became nothing more than a fantasy to Jim.

"Hey, kids."

Jim and Spock turned to the new voice simultaneously, fighting against their restraints and trying to figure out who, exactly, said that. And why in such an odd, husky tone. Truth be told, it was kind of creepy.

"Um, hey, mister," Jim said, trying to paste a smile on his face. "Something we can help you with?"

The man smirked, brushed his long and slightly dirty ginger hair out of his eyes. "Actually, yes," he practically purred. Ice trickled down Jim's spine.

"You know, I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, so I'm gonna talk to my brother, okay?" Jim squeaked and looked away, begging with his eyes for Spock to help. Unfortunately, Spock was on Jim's other side, and still bound by law to stay in his seat. The teen tensed, ready for things to get bad. They always did, when Jim was around.

"That's okay," the man said in that weird voice again.

"You sound like something's wrong," Jim said, swallowing. "Maybe you should go see a doctor? I'm pretty sure the ship we're in has one, but I dunno, maybe they'll stick you with a hypo and you'll have better luck."

"I'm fine," he insisted, his dark eyes burning into Jim's. He lay one large and spidery hand on Jim's knee. Jim tensed, and opened his mouth to shout for help when the other hand clamped around his jaw. His other hand lifted up and Jim felt the tip of something rather sharp poke into his knee. "When the belt light goes off, you will follow me," he hissed. "And be silent about it. Don't want to attract attention, now do we?"

Not that there were many people to attract the attention of. One elderly man was practically comatose, snoring so loudly Jim could hardly tell if he actually was breathing. The other young lady was bobbing her head up and down as she listened to music, nose buried in a book.

"How do you manage to get yourself into these situations?" Spock murmured.

"You heard that?" Jim asked, his voice laced with panic. "Wait, duh, Vulcan."

"Give me approximately two minutes," Spock promised and as the light keeping them in their seats blinked off and the man stalked off to the restroom. Spock unclipped himself and followed, the very slightest of frowns twisting his lips.

Jim listened over the sawing of the old man to a shout, a slight thump, and then silence. Spock walked out calmly, readjusted his hat, and sat down, crossing his arms over his chest as he closed his eyes.

"Nerve pinch?"

"Nerve pinch."

They sat in silence for the rest of the trip, Spock falling into a meditative trance as Jim idly picked the stuffing out of the seat and tried to flick it at his friend. Spock did not react, not even when the shuttle landed and he opened his eyes to discover bits of yellow foam stuck in the fibers of his borrowed skullcap. Brushing the bits away, Spock ushered Jim out, especially because his sensitive hearing picked up the faint groans of the disgusting being who tried to threaten Jim.

Jim groaned, stretched, and hurried out, not even wincing as the humid heat of Georgia washed over him, regardless of the fact they were inside to begin with.

"So..." Spock began, tucking his hands in his pockets in a habit he'd picked up from Jim. "What is the next part of your plan?"

"Now we have to get to Iowa, and find out what happened to Mom and Sam."

Spock looked around, eyes flicking between the temperamental travelers and the occasional performer begging for change. "And how do you propose to do that?"

Jim grinned. "Ever heard of hitchhiking?"

Letting out a faint sigh, he closed his eyes briefly and then gazed at Jim. "And what do you propose to do if another being tries to accost you such as the male on the shuttle transport?"

"That's why I brought you," Jim replied smartly and struck off in a random direction, parting the crowd as he shoved his way through. Spock restrained his first urge to knock Jim out as well and drag him to a nice, safe place where he couldn't get hurt.

That, however logical it might have sounded, was impossible. Jim could cause himself bodily harm with something simple. Like dirt. Or air.

His morbid line of thoughts was broken as he hurried to catch up to his human friend, who nodded and smiled at most everyone he passed by. Jim paused with one kind-looking woman and managed to woo directions out of her, getting the way to the nearest exit, which wasn't that far off. They continued to make their way forward, Spock looking the other way as Jim swiped not-so-subtly at his eyes.

"Mom used to get stuck giving directions to anyone who got lost," he explained thickly. "It was so funny, 'cause half the time she couldn't tell up from down." He gave Spock a weak smile, and ducked his head, trying to gather his thoughts and feelings.

Whether he'd admit it or not, Spock did know what Jim was going through. He made a mental note to show Jim one of his utterly human instances of weakness when they returned to Vulcan. _I-Chaya..._

For some reason, allowing Jim to see his own instances of vulnerability seemed to make him act only more and more recklessly. It had to do with the human emotion pride, Spock was sure, but before he could begin the mental dissection of the causes behind Jim's behavior the boy himself dashed through the sliding doors and did a strange little dance in the open air.

"It's good to be back on Earth," he said, pure happiness making him glow with internal light. "Hot, but not like back on Vulcan."

"That is true."

"Okay!" Jim clapped loudly and began taking over-large steps, making dust float into the air. "Do you know the basics of hitchhiking?"

Spock stared at him, and Jim smirked. "No, Jim, I do not."

"It's really easy, I promise. We keep walking, and whenever you hear a car coming, stick out your hand, with your thumb out. Hopefully someone will stop, and we can hop in and get on our way to Iowa. Riverside is kind of in the middle, so it might be a bit of a drive."

"Rather easy," Spock noted as they continued to walk along the side of the highway. Raising a brow, he stuck his hand out the way Jim had shown, the human following a beat later.

A squeal of tires caught their attention, and they whirled around, ready for a fight. Instead of someone intent on harming them, however, they stuck their head over the door of the topless 'Vette and assessed the pair with hard blue eyes.

"What the hell are two pipsqueaks doin' runnin' around out here?" the person, who Jim saw to be a guy, drawled in a heavy Southern accent.

"Lookin' for a ride to Iowa," Jim said, taking a step forward. "You headin' there?"

"Maybe, maybe not," the man said, raising an eyebrow in a speculative glance at Spock, who stood back, stock still and silent as the dead. "Who's your friend?"

"Sam," Jim lied smoothly. "He's my older brother. Can't talk. Swallowed something that messed with his voice. Now, about that ride..."

"I've got some thinkin' to do," the man said. "Drivin's the best way for a guy to clear his thought's 'round here. Hop in, but don't go gettin' sick everywhere. I am not cleanin' up the result of your motion sickness."

"Fair enough," Jim agreed, and motioned for Spock to climb in the back first. He followed quickly, and closed the door quickly, thinking of another Corvette on another day. "What's your name, sir? I'm Jim, Jim Kirk."

"None of that sir stuff, I'm only eighteen. My name's McCoy. Leonard McCoy. Nice to meet you."

---

**Notes:** Oh, did I throw you for a loop? What are the chances the good doctor would be there? Astronomical, of course, but the universe loves Jim and so everything is a bit easier than it would be for a normal person.

Thanks for all your reviews! We've reached over 120! How cool! Tell your friends, your enemies, your prisoners... spread the word! -hands out cookies and pop-

Some things I wanted to address: (because I'm too lazy to look up names) Yeah, I know it's going fast, but the slash won't come into play until they're older, but I'm finding this childhood thing far too fun to end it now. I'm spoiling you. -smirk-

And sorry if you think Jim and Spock are acting a little too mature. Jim lost his family and is living with the most responsible and serious race in the galaxy. He kind of has to be that way, but he still acts like a kid, especially where his senses of grief and happiness come into play.

Enough with my super-long note. Any questions, comments, or other stuff, leave a review! Lastly, I don't own Star Trek, so blah! See you next time!


	8. eight

"So what're a couple of kids doing wandering around without any parents, hmm?"

Jim's eyes snapped open and he lurched forward, a little groan escaping between his lips. His back was stiff and his eyes gritty. Not to mention the past few hours or so were all a jumbled mess bouncing around inside his skull. "Whazzat?" he mumbled.

"You heard. I see hitchhikers all the time, mostly prisoners tryin' to make a run for it, but never kids."

Jim had to actually stop and think about what McCoy was saying. His words were doused in a healthy Southern accent and Jim, who had been with the cultured and ever-so-eloquent Vulcans for the past two years, discovered he had some trouble understanding. After a moment of translating into actual understandable Standard, he shrugged and replied, "No reason."

He glanced up and met McCoy's eyes in the rearview mirror, two suspicious chips of blue boring into his face. "Yeah. Right. And I'm gonna join Starfleet and be a doctor." He snorted, the car jerking slightly to the left on accident.

"You don't seem like the type," Jim noted.

McCoy nodded serenely. "I've been told I'm not exactly a people person," he agreed. Then he shook his head, remembering exactly what he was trying to get at with the one kid who could talk, though he did have his doubts.

"Listen, kid, if you've got parents who're hitting you, we can drop you off at the nearest Child Services-"

"No!" Jim said sharply, and next to him, he felt Spock stiffen into wakefulness.

They'd both fallen asleep as the afternoon faded into evening and McCoy remained silent. Now, however, they were somewhere else entirely and the sun burned above their heads cheerfully.

"How long have I been out?" Jim asked instead, peering out the 'Vette with interest. The landscape was flat, flat enough that you could see the road stretching ahead in one straight shot. Rows and rows of what Jim suspected to be corn swayed back and forth with the wind from their passing, creating amber waves that blurred together.

Just like Jim remembered Iowa.

"'Bout twelve hours. You and... Sam both," McCoy drawled. "I'd be hard-pressed to admit another case where all kids have done is sleep." He snorted at some inside joke and smirked at Jim behind him. "We're almost there, lucky enough, 'bout an hour out. Got a specific place in Riverside you're looking for?"

Jim straightened, suddenly more alert. All traces of sleepiness vanished, and Spock had to remind himself he was playing the mute brother, much as he wanted insight into what was going through Jim's head. Instead of asking what was wrong, he settled for tapping Jim on the hand and staring at him.

"Ah," Jim hedged. "I'm hungry. Mr. McCoy, can we stop and get something to eat? I'm sure there's a restaurant around here somewhere." He turned his head and grinned. "Sign says next exit. Please?"

Jim opened his eyes a fraction, allowing the full brunt of his baby blues to shine on the driver, who looked away instantly, a scowl on his face. "Absolutely not."

There was silence, in which Jim continued to beg without words, Spock mentally rolled his eyes, and McCoy tried to resist. Jim gave the teen his dues: he held out far longer than Amanda had when he'd spotted a particular trinket that caught his interest. But, in the end, not even the callous driver could refuse the puppy dog look.

"Fine, fine," McCoy grumbled. He yanked the old car a little sharper than necessary and peeled off onto the exit, gritting his teeth and upbraiding himself for giving in. The kid could hardly go up to his elbow, for chrissakes! And yet, he could manipulate with the best of them. "Goddamn kid with his goddamn eyes..."

Whipping into the parking spot with little regard for bodily saftey, McCoy clambered out and shut the door, throwing a mulish look over his shoulder as he strode off, not waiting for Jim and Spock to catch up. The pair of boys scurried after him, ducking their heads as they tried to attract less attention. They found McCoy in a booth towards the back and hesitantly slid in across from him.

"I don't have many credits to spend," McCoy warned. "Buy cheap and buy good." He beckoned the waiter over, a rather large man who already had sweat stains across his torso. "Water for all of us," he clarified, and the waiter sped off in a whiff of perspiration and old cologne.

Spock elbowed Jim in the ribs and gave him that stare again, willing him to understand. Spock was done with this mysterious here-nor-there way Jim had been going about things. If there was something he was afraid of, Jim needed to tell him. At least that way Spock would know what he was up against this time.

Their waters were brought to them shortly and McCoy muttered something about wanting some whiskey instead, prompting a heated argument between himself and the cantankerous waiter, who went to fetch the preferred beverage and was rather angry when it was revealed McCoy was not the technical legal age for such a drink. In the end, however, McCoy was sulking over a free meal coupon, so it worked out in his favor.

"Eat fast," McCoy ordered as he flicked his eyes up and down the menu. The theme, apparently, was an old 21st century restaurant, complete with stylish retro metallic accents and all smooth edges and burnished silvers. He settled for an old-fashioned burger, cooked on an actual stove (but not gas, of course, that was wasteful) by an actual person.

"Okay," Jim chirped, and frowned. "There's no vegetarian options," he said, confused.

"Why would there be?"

"Well, Sp- Sam is a vegetarian," Jim explained. "He doesn't eat anything that once came from something alive, not even fish, but still stuff like eggs. Just not meat. I don't either. It's how we've been living these past couple years."

McCoy raised a brow. "You're serious." The look on both boys' faces confirmed it. "Okay then. Salads alright?" Jim nodded, and after a moment, Spock did too. A prickle under his hat made Spock shift slightly in his seat, but he did not itch. He was not certain how this... McCoy character would react to his physical appearance.

Their meals arrived quickly and the three fell upon the food like a pack of starving wolves. Of course, Spock would never dignify his behavior with such a description, but it was true. They hadn't eaten in well over twelve hours, even more since they had started their bizarre journey just before it was time for the evening meal. A nudge distracted him briefly and he looked over at Jim, who gestured minutely to the men's bathroom at the back of the room.

"Excuse us," Jim said politely, letting his fork drop into the bed of droopy greens. "We have to use the restroom."

They slid out before McCoy could stop them and darted through the maze of tables, banging open the door and shoving it closed. Jim let out a quiet sigh while Spock took off his hat and rearranged his hair to his liking.

"Why were you alarmed when Mr. McCoy said we were an hour from Riverside?" Spock said without preamble, slipping the cap on and making sure it covered his ears.

"We lived out far from town," Jim said quietly. "In fact, I'd say we're only a few minutes away. It's just..." He paused, grimacing.

"Jim..."

"It's kind of old and run-down 'cause after Dad died Mom had to work on colonies and we never really had a lot of money and it's not near as nice as home on Vulcan and I don't want you pitying me because of it," Jim said in a rush. Two bright spots of color lodged on his cheeks.

"Pity is a human emotion." Spock turned away, eyes downcast. Though he'd never admit it, it stung the tiniest bit that Jim would think their friendship so shallow. Spock had accepted him as a friend, even though Jim was human, even though Jim was emotional and even against his father's wishes. To think that viewing Jim's old house would break the bond they'd formed through two years of living together...

"I know," Jim murmured. "I'm human. And..." He took a sudden step forward, tugging gently on Spock's sleeve to get his attention. "I'm scared. I don't know what I'll find. And there isn't anyone else I'd want covering my back than you."

Jim smiled grimly, one which Spock returned with his eyes, a slight brightening that one unversed in reading Vulcan facial expressions would have missed. Jim caught it, and it turned his grin into one of happiness.

"Oi! Jim, Sam, get your asses out here! I'm leaving!"

The moment of understanding broken, they both nearly tripped over themselves to get out of the men's room and fall in line behind McCoy, who stalked out after throwing a small wad of bills on their table.

"Did something happen?" Jim asked as they were ungracefully shoved into the back seat of the car. McCoy hopped in, turned it on with a roar, and floored it, leaving only a cloud of smoke and tire tracks to show they'd been there at all. The wind tore at their hair, and Jim opened his mouth to shout over the wind when a brown blur passed on his right.

"Wait! Stop! You missed it!" Jim called. McCoy slammed on the brakes and wrenched the wheel around, spinning them in an ungraceful U-turn. Jim clamped his mouth shut and locked his hands around anything solid, one thing which happened to be extremely warm under a layer of smooth cloth. Spock did not complain when Jim grabbed his arm; instead he fought the onslaught of fear that such a move brought.

Dangerous maneuver completed, McCoy brought them around to bear and sped up a bit, yanking them into the gravel driveway. Feeling faintly nauseous, Jim nearly fell out, one hand still locked around Spock's forearm. He let go with a murmured apology and stood, brushing dirt off his pants. Jim was surprised when McCoy grabbed hold of him and Spock, dragging them under the old oak tree off to the side of the house.

McCoy tilted Jim's face back and forth, and finally rolled his eyes, leaning against the tree. "I'm too old for this kind of shit," he muttered to no one.

"Ah, what's wrong?"

"Jim and Sam," he said abruptly. "Or... Jim and Spock, adopted and biological child of Amanda Greyson and Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan?"

"Shit," Jim hissed, and tried to bolt. McCoy stopped him by latching onto his shoulder and sending him tumbling to the ground, off balance.

"What do you want, then?" Spock said calmly, carefully removing the hat and shifting into a combat stance. "I assure you, we are not helpless, nor will we, as you say, 'go quietly'."

"I told you, Spock, they only say those on crime holos," Jim whispered as he picked himself off the ground again, putting his fists up.

"If it gets the point across-"

"I'm not gonna do anything to you," McCoy scoffed. Jim and Spock faltered, surprised. "Jesus, you think I'm some kind of... kidnapper? Hell no. But your parents are worried something fierce, and I'm gonna take you to the nearest shuttle port and send you right off."

Jim blinked. "Worried?"

"After you two scooted off, the owners of the food stop got word of a missing child alert. They flicked on the news, and lo and behold, your mugs, plastered everywhere. Amanda even spoke a bit, asking whoever took you to be kind, you were only children, that kind of motherly thing."

Jim felt shame boil in his stomach. He hadn't intended to make her worry, it was just... well... didn't his real mother have some standing? Jim's eyes dropped to his feet, blood rushing to his face. "I didn't mean to..."

"That's okay," McCoy said in a softer tone. "I'll get you back, no problem. Why did you come here, anyway?"

Spock stepped in front of Jim, separating him from McCoy. "That is none of your business, Mr. McCoy. If you would stay here while we briefly explore this establishment, we will not be long." Leaving McCoy speechless, he strode off, Jim in tow as they headed for the house.

If Spock had been of that particular opinion, he would have said the best word to describe it was... haunted. It had seen horrible things, and it showed. The paint had flaked away, revealing old fashioned wood underneath, sagging and black with age. Shutters lay limply on one hinge, not bothering to cover the gaping black holes that were windows. It was aged, and, somehow, it gave Spock the creeps.

Jim opened the front door, wincing as it creaked rustily. He poked his head in, sneezed, and stepped inside. Dust layered thickly across the floor, and as Jim took a few steps forward, it went flying in a choking cloud around him. Jim trailed a hand nostalgically across the wallpaper, his mind pointing out small rips and stains he had caused in his rambunctious playing. Spock walked silently behind him, observing Jim's normal brightness dampen in the somber surroundings.

Jim swallowed and steadied himself, overcome with a moment of grief. He'd come staggering down this hall, after... He shook his head, unable and unwilling to think of the circumstances that led to his unique situation.

"Sam's room," he said hoarsely as he lay one hand on the doorknob. A precursory check allowed Jim to feel his shock now, instead of later.

It was completely bare. Not one single scrap of anything remained save for the furniture, and even then the drawers were empty. The only thing that marked this as Sam's was a faint smear of blood on the mattress, a bare outline of a ragged splotch. Jim felt his legs give, and then panic sprung within him. Using energy he hadn't known he possessed, he sprinted farther down the hall, past the living room and the bathroom and his mother's room to his room.

He flung open the door, and collapsed, tears trickling down his face.

Gone. All of it, gone, every last scrap of the family Kirk, vanished, like it had never been there in the first place. He managed to pull himself to the bed and flopped on it, letting his head rest in his hands.

"I was under the impression that human homes had more possessions than this," Spock said, startling Jim out of his reverie.

"They do," he said thickly. "Someone took it all. Police, I s'pose. Should've expected that. Took the stuff... probably took the bodies, too..."

Spock stepped into Jim's room, trying to imagine what it would have looked like when Jim lived in it. Full of vibrant colors, he supposed, bright to match Jim's personality. Something connecting him to his mother and brother, the only family he trusted. A memento of various accomplishments. It was a pleasant thought. Spock glanced out the window, and, out of his inherent curiosity, asked, "What do those ornaments mean?"

Jim cocked his head and sniffled, standing and moving over to the window where Spock now stood. "What?"

"Those wooden crosses." He nodded out where, in the distance, Jim could faintly make out three wooden crosses, tied together hastily in place of gravestones. Markers for bodies.

"It's them," Jim said, and relief dawned on him. "I remember... Mom said if she died on a colony, she wanted to be brought back here and buried on the property... where they buried that replica for Dad..."

Something dark flashed in the corner of his eye, and before Jim could open his mouth to ask what was going on, something lifted him and threw him across the room.

Jim landed against the opposite wall with a groan, pain exploding across his back as bruises began blossoming instantly. Jim spat out a globule of blood, wincing as the coppery taste flooded his mouth again. He'd bitten his tongue.

"Jim, run!" Spock shouted. Jim blinked the haze away and saw his friend fighting. As to what, he wasn't sure.

A memory flashed against his eyelids: darkness, black markings, pointed eyes and angry words. Green blood flowing thick, drying against his skin and clothes. Running, fear, choking on it. Jim flinched.

Spock did not cry out as the being kneed him in the stomach, using his distraction to grab his collar and toss him out the window, glass falling with a clatter on the wooden floor. The man, eerily similar to an adult Vulcan Jim could see, turned slowly and regarded him with hate filled eyes.

This wasn't a Vulcan, Jim realized with horror as the man took one slow step forward, then another, his black cloak swirling in the wind from the broken window. There was anger and pain and pure, unadulterated hate in those eyes. Spock was the only Vulcan he knew that spoke with his eyes. All the rest were cold, unfeeling, and it showed.

"Bastard," Jim snarled, and launched himself up, fists flailing. This time, he did not have a pocket knife to protect him.

The man easily caught his wrists and, in one casual move, snapped them both. Jim let out a wail, pain shattering any ideas of stoic silence. Tears dribbled down his face and Jim tried to wrench himself free, but a warning squeeze brought him to his knees, vomiting his half-eaten salad onto the floor.

"James Tiberius Kirk," the man growled. "I was unsure when you would return."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jim said, choking briefly as another dry heave made his abdominal muscles clench painfully. "I've never seen you before in my life!"

A harsh, guttural sound ripped its way out of the man's throat and he shook Jim hard, his head flopping around weakly. "You killed my brother two years ago!" the man roared.

Ice settled in Jim's stomach, and he bowed his head. "It was just an accident," Jim whispered, his voice climbing as he repeated it in a desperate mantra as if to convince himself. Anger flashed in Jim's eyes and he brought his head forward, cracking it against his attacker's skull. Disoriented, head spinning, Jim fell back, lying limp on the floor as the being drew back, rubbing the tender spot on his forehead.

"Impertinent little brat, Kirk," he growled, and reached for Jim, who scooted back, face full of pain as he tried to use his injured hands.

Jim closed his eyes and braced himself for a retaliatory blow. When none came, he cracked open one eye, then another as his jaw dropped.

The being who attacked him was unconscious on the floor, and behind him were none other than McCoy and Spock. The former was holding what appeared to be some kind of tool - a wrench, perhaps - and panting, and the latter was staring at the body calmly as if nothing had happened. Green leaked from various cuts on his face and arms.

"Spock, you're hurt!" Jim said, and tried to lever himself into a standing position, but forgot about his wrists and gasped as pain flooded his senses. He fell back, curling his arms in to his chest.

"Your injuries are much worse than mine," Spock said, his voice barely managing to sound unconcerned.

McCoy, however, took this much the wrong way. "Well, by the looks of it, he's got a head injury and his wrists or hands are broken. You might show a bit of concern over his welfare, kid."

Spock knelt down and shot the older teen a look that screamed 'mess with us and I will cause you grievous bodily harm'. McCoy wisely chose to back off, instead keeping an eye on the unconscious alien that had accosted the young children. He was surprised, though, at the gentleness with which the young Vulcan helped his friend stand, careful not to jostle the hands Jim held against himself.

"We need to get to a hospital," Spock demanded, hovering against Jim's side.

"Naw, it's nothing," Jim said dismissively, grinning. "That was pretty sweet how you dropped him, though," he added, looking at McCoy, who stared at him with a horrified look.

"Is everything around you batshit crazy?" McCoy asked, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.

"Pretty much, yes," Jim agreed.

A low moan filled the room and all three sets of eyes fixed on the black-swaddled body that began twitching and moving slowly. Biting his lip to keep from collapsing, allowing the sharp sting of pain to bring his focus back, Jim walked steadily out of his room, followed after a moment by Spock, and finally McCoy, who ran out, long legs eating the ground that separated the group from his vehicle.

Still at a flat-out run, McCoy heard the being shout after him and limp his way outside. The teen turned, watched with wide eyes as he dug around in his cloak and pulled out a spindly looking weapon, aiming it for the two kids. Putting on a burst of speed, McCoy scooped up one kid in either arm, tossed them in the back of his 'Vette, and hopped in the front.

"Key, key," he muttered, and ducked as a phaser blast nearly took his head off. "Goddammit!" he swore as he fumbled around, searching his pockets for the blasted thing.

The being's aim was horrible, but a wild shot shattered his windshield. Suppressing a groan - that was going to cost money he needed for college, dammit! - he found the little metal chunk and shoved it in the ignition, flooring the gas and fish-tailing out of the driveway, sliding lower in his seat so any odd shots went soaring over his head.

"How's everybody doing?" McCoy yelled over the roar of the wind. "We all still in one piece?"

"Jim is unconscious," Spock reported. "When you threw us in the vehicle, I believe he landed on his injured limbs. The pain overwhelmed his human nerves."

"No worries," McCoy assured. "We'll keep going. Riverside isn't that far, they're bound to have a general hospital." McCoy gritted his teeth as the low fuel light blinked on. "Aw, hell, this can't get any worse."

And, oddly enough, it didn't. They had just barely made it into town before they ran out of steam, coming to a slow, rolling halt on the side of the road. McCoy grabbed Jim and slung him over one shoulder, gesturing for Spock to follow, and struck off towards the hospital, which was in sight and walking distance. Ignoring the various drunks, junkies, random hobos, and crazy people in general, the odd trio trekked through the city.

When they finally made it to the hospital - it was a lot farther than they'd thought, and dusk was beginning to fall - they were tired, cranky, and covered in sweat. Well, McCoy more than anyone, because Spock was too busy examining the situation and trying to figure out if he could have done something else to help Jim. So far, he hadn't found anything.

An hour later, McCoy was saddled with all the paperwork of registering Jim as a patient and both were sitting around Jim as he lay in the sterile hospital bed, an IV line hooked into his elbow and two self-regulating casts encased around his hands.

A sudden voice caught the older teen by surprise; he started and lost all his paperwork to the floor. Setting his jaw and muttering obscenities under his breath, he knelt down to gather the bits when a slim hand reached past him. Blinking, he stood, and a blush crept onto his face.

Amanda Greyson was a lot prettier in person, he reflected. And, after a quick glance behind her, Ambassador Sarek was a lot sterner and imposing too. He took a deep breath and prepared to explain when Spock interrupted.

In quick, clipped tones, he outlined the entire situation, even offering insights into Jim's thought processes as an explanation. He bowed at the waist and, in an unexpected twist, apologized. Profusely, and at great length, taking responsibility for the entire thing.

"I will observe any punishment you see fit to place upon me, Mother, Father," Spock finished, and straightened. "I am at fault. Not Jim."

Amanda sighed, and swept Spock into a hug, pressing her son into her bosom. "You have no idea how worried I was," she said, anger clear in her voice. "About you, and about Jim. Do you know what could have happened? That being could have killed you. The man in the shuttle could have taken advantage of Jim. You both should be in jail for stowing away on a shuttle like that!"

"I'm sorry," a tired voice broke in. "That was my idea. I dragged Spock along. I didn't mean for us to get hurt." Jim let his hands rise and flop weakly on the thin hospital sheets. "I'm sorry," he said in a small voice.

"You both are grounded. You'll be lucky if you see the sun again!" Amanda said fiercely.

Both boys hung their heads. McCoy felt as if he were an outsider in a discussion that had taken place more times than just this once. But before he could slip out and leave the family to itself, Amanda turned and strode over to him. He tensed, expecting a firm verbal thrashing. He'd picked up her kids hitchhiking, but he'd also saved their lives.

Amanda gave him a soft smile and handed him a slip of paper. He nodded, gracefully taking his leave, sending one last look to the bedridden Jim and the silent Spock. Once outside, he unfolded the note and nearly dropped it in surprise.

Mouth dry, he regarded the slip of paper with trembling hands. McCoy would never forget those boys, he vowed.

How could he, when saving them earned him the money to go to any college he wanted for as long as he wanted?

As the teen left and darkness fell, Sarek was left with Jim in the room as Spock and his mother left to find something decent to eat. Jim shifted uncomfortably as he felt the older Vulcan's eyes on him like an itch.

"Is something the matter, sir?"

Sarek stood, taking a smooth step towards Jim, who flinched imperceptibly. "James," Sarek said, with something suspiciously sounding like exasperation. "I am becoming concerned for the welfare of my son. I can only imagine what reckless and dangerous acts you might encourage Spock to perform with your emotional responses."

Jim tried to fist his hands in the sheets, but a faint twinge of pain reminded him why that wasn't a good idea. It also conjured up the image of Spock, leaning over him, bleeding from cuts all over his face and arms, unconcerned for his own injuries but concerned for Jim's. It made no sense.

"Sorry, sir. I've tried to stop, but that involves locking me in a small room with nothing fun to do."

Sarek was not amused. "If I may make a request: instead of rushing into things without thinking, allow Spock to present the logical and rational argument. Perhaps that would prove to aide you in your journey to romp across this arm of the galaxy."

"That's not what I was trying to do!" Jim said hotly. "I wanted to see my mom's grave!"

Sarek was silent. Then, on impulse, a habit he picked up from his wife, he asked, "Has Spock told you of I-Chaya?"

"I who?"

"It was a beloved pet of mine, that was killed protecting Spock's life during a ritual undertaking," Sarek explained coolly. "Perhaps he will show you where I-Chaya was buried. Maybe you will realize that reckless acts like attempting something you are too young for will only cause pain for the ones who are attached to you."

His story complete, he left, ceremonial cloak rippling around his ankles as he left Jim in solitude to find his wife and son. Jim let out a breath, closing his eyes and tilting his head to the ceiling.

"I'll try," Jim whispered. His eyes flicked open, taking in the starry night sky, little lights twinkling in the blackness. "I wish..." he murmured, feeling his eyes droop for real. "I bet I can..."

---

**Notes:** Holy shit on a shingle, I'm getting twenty kajillion reviews and I'm blown out of the water. What possessed me to write this entire chapter this afternoon, I will never know. Oh well. Must be your lucky day, huh?

Nothing to touch upon, really, just hope you liked Bones in all his teenage glory. According to Memory Alpha (Star Trek Wiki) Bones was born in 2227, Spock in 2232, and Jim in 2233. Thus the age gap. (I was surprised too!)

I don't own it, don't sue. Leave a review, favorite it, draw a picture, send me mail, write a message in airplane smoke, I don't care! Do something! Yay!

Peace out. Till next time. ;)


	9. nine

It should have been raining.

Not that it wasn't overcast enough, Jim thought as he tipped his head up to the cloudy sky, the droning of the Speaker creating a low buzz that rang in his ears. The clouds were low, bellies dark and bloated with unshed rain, spread out thickly over most of the county. Still, out of some perverse sense of sympathy, they did not let the droplets fall.

The funeral was quiet. Jim stood, face dry, mind in turmoil, as the Speaker told of lives cut short, dreams unfinished, love never to be recieved. It was a nice ceremony, as such things went. The bodies had been buried already; there was no need for Jim to stay after the Speaker was finished with the rite. He turned, ignoring the feel of Spock's eyes on his back, and just... walked.

He didn't know where, exactly, he went, but he knew he was still on his property. Strange, to think of it as his. In his mother's will, everything had gone to Sam, but Sam was dead too. So Jim got everything. No next of kin, no adult relative... if he hadn't had a home already, he would have been placed in foster care. In that respect, Jim supposed he should be thankful for Spock and his family.

Jim blinked wearily, and found himself sitting under the old tree in his front yard. He couldn't actually recall getting there, though there was a definite sense of having moved. His arms were wrapped around his legs as he thought empty thoughts about nothing in particular.

"Are you well?"

Jim looked up, unsure of when Spock had arrived, or when Spock had slid into a cross-legged seat next to him, staring at him with his dark eyes full of unasked concerns. A wan smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The stoic Vulcan he'd lived with was concerned for him, a puny fallible little human boy with a knack for trouble. If Jim was one for irony, he would have guessed that was a prime example, but that subject had never particularly interested him, so he remained unsure.

"I guess."

"You do not appear so," Spock said, tilting his head to study Jim from a different angle. "It was a sufficient ceremony."

"It should be raining," Jim observed. Spock drew back, slightly confused. He knew that Jim was upset by the recent developments - the being that had attacked them had disappeared, and then the Speaker coming to partake in the elaborate rite of final passage - but he had never seen Jim so... blank. If he had been trying, Spock would have commended him on emotional control, but as it was, he settled for showing professional concern.

And maybe a little worry, too. Jim was always cheerful and bouncy and constantly in motion, never so still or silent. It unnerved him.

"That was not our topic of conversation, Jim," Spock said evenly.

"It's how it goes in the holos. When there's a funeral, it's always dreary and raining. Helps the mood, I suppose," Jim murmured, tugging his knees closer to his chest. "It just seems... odd. It's plenty cloudy, but no rain. Huh."

"Jim. I do not understand."

The boy turned to Spock, and Spock was struck suddenly with how old Jim looked. The heavy purple marks under his eyes had only grown during his time in the hospital, even though it was barely more than a day and night. His hair was disheveled, and the tux he wore hung off his frame. The casts were flashing red: Jim's own healing was being overridden by the stress he felt.

"It's okay, Spock. It's not something I expect you to understand."

"If... if you were to explain..." Spock trailed off, curious and concerned and unwilling to admit he felt that way at all, though he knew he did. "I apologize. It is not my place to ask."

"Are you sure?" Jim rounded on him, all wide blue eyes and sudden focus. "If you could have something explained, would you do it? Would you understand, really? If it's so far out of your league, if it's dangerous, if it held the key to your sanity?" He looked away, chuckling morbidly. "Listen to me. Just full of hot air, that's all."

He stood, nearly falling over as light-headedness swept over him. A steady hand on his shoulder kept him upright, however, and he gave Spock a tired smile as they waited for Sarek and Amanda to pick them up. Spock had insisted that he be present for the funeral. He was one of two guests that attended.

Moments later, a shuttle dropped down, trailing wisps of cloud as it settled on the dirt road with a whiff of steam. The metal gleamed and, even as the ramp dropped down, little drops began to fall. Moisture ran down the smooth hull and for a second, Jim didn't move.

He tilted his head up, letting the rain pour over his face, soak his clothes, and further irritate his casts. He closed his eyes and abandoned thought; instead, he was the sensation of cool water on hot skin, of pain numbed by time and new memories, of guilt that feelings were gone.

"Jim?"

Amanda's quiet voice brought him out of his reverie and he looked up at her standing in the hatch of the shuttle. Giving her a reassuring grin, he quickly climbed up the steps and settled himself in next to Spock, who had gone in before Jim to get out of the chilling rain. Jim shook the moisture out of his hair, leaning back and closing his eyes.

Jim fell asleep to the near-silent discussion between Amanda and Sarek. Too tired to make out the words, he drifted into a world of half-corporeal shapes, of Mom and Sam reaching out and falling short, of pointed ears and concerned eyes. A gentle hand on his shoulder startled him into wakefulness, and he looked up with surprise to see Amanda beckoning for him to come along.

In the short time he'd been gone, Vulcan had not changed. It was still painfully hot and dry, with the same rugged cliffs and carved buildings dotting the harsh landscape. Jim took a deep breath and was about to strike off in a random direction when thin, warm fingers closed around his wrist, giving a gentle tug before letting go.

He turned to see Spock walking off, his head bowed as he thought. Jim jogged to catch up, wincing as the hot air flooded his lungs and caused sweat to bead on his brow.

"Where are we going?" Jim asked when he had caught up.

"I want to show you something."

"Okay, but that doesn't answer my question."

Spock lifted one shoulder in a shrug, a gesture he had picked up from Jim trying to get out of trouble. "It is, as you would say, 'a surprise'."

Jim paused, giving Spock's back a confused stare. Seeing that Spock was not dissuaded by his reaction, Jim caught up again and they continued to walk towards wherever Spock was headed. The pair took a winding path that led far off from even the most outcast home, leading deeper into the cliffs. The jagged cliffs towered over their heads, shot through with pinks and reds. It was very nice. Serene. A nice change of pace from the muggy greens and yellows of Iowa, Jim noted.

The path diverged; one led the traveler back around in a loop to civilization. The other, much less used path wound into a small crevice that Spock and Jim dropped into easily, their small size lending the advantage and allowing them to slip into it easier than an adult could have.

It was a natural cavern eroded from the rock around it by a vein of water, leaving crystallized remnants of the minerals that had once dissolved in it, eons ago. Crystals were everywhere, in all sorts of colors: reds, blues, and even purple and green. The glittering rocks shattered the light and spread it around, creating a halo around Spock's crouched form. Jim blinked and let his jaw drop. He had never seen anything like that before in his life, and it was... beautiful.

"Whoa."

"Indeed," Spock said wryly. "I discovered this while exploring after I-Chaya sacrificed himself to save my life."

Jim looked downcast as he picked around some massive crystals to sit down next to Spock. "He's buried here, huh." It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

Spock looked over at him, saying softly, "It was not your fault. I attempted to undertake my _kahs-wan _prematurely." At Jim's blank look, he elaborated, "A survival test to prove adulthood in our society. I would liken it to a warrior rite of passage in Earth's history." Jim nodded and sighed, eyes downcast.

"I know I'm supposed to be weepy and depressed," he began without preamble, "but I can't. How can I be sad when my family dieing means I got you as a friend? Your mom is so nice, and Sarek... well, he tolerates me, which is more than I can say for Frank." Bitterness crept into his voice and his muscles tensed. "I told you about that. I don't think Sarek would ever hurt me like that."

"So," Spock summarized, "you feel guilty that you are enjoying your current arrangement and don't feel as bad as you once did about the deaths of your mother and brother."

Jim could only nod miserably in return. He tried to ball his hands into fists but the casts pinged loudly, reminding him of the botched visit all over again.

"I have experienced guilt before," Spock said quietly. "I-Chaya was Father's pet before mine. When I made my foolish decision, it cost Father an old acquaintance he was comfortable and receptive to. It is a confusing emotion."

"We're just a screwed up pair, aren't we?" Jim said, running a finger along the edge of one of the naturally formed crystals. "You try not to feel, and I try not to do stupid things, but it happens anyway, and when it does, we roll with it."

The barest hint of a smile tugged the corners of Spock's mouth. "I believe you do not try to do stupid things, they merely find you instead." Jim laughed and gave a lazy shrug.

"So?"

"One day you may find yourself lacking something important to your continued bodily growth."

Jim shifted slightly and moved his hands from around his knees to protect his crotch. "Jackass."

Spock didn't reply to the comment, merely closed his eyes and bowed his head, stilling for a moment. "Did you have a funeral for I- I- your pet?"

"No. Death is expected and not to be mourned over. When one is lost, another is born. That is the way of the universe. Logical and ordered." Even Spock didn't look completely convinced and Jim could see the grief in the tightening of Spock's jaw and the hardening of his eyes. Jim chewed on his lower lip, debating the merits of his latest idea. At least this one didn't involve stowing away and nearly getting killed by some random alien hiding in his house.

"We can do one now!" Jim leaped up, head barely brushing the top of the cavern, and straightened his tux, which he hadn't had the time to take off. Clearing his throat, he looked expectantly over to Spock, who reluctantly stood and began reciting some of the more memorable encounters he had shared.

I-Chaya coming to his rescue during his survival test, taking the poisonous claws of the _le__-__matya_ that had attacked Spock in the first place.

Whispering secrets he could not tell to his parents.

Being there during the long days when Mother and Father had other duties to attend to.

Spock bowed his head again and stepped back. Jim raised his hands and took a deep breath. He wanted this to satisfy Spock, give him that 'closure' thing he'd picked up as an excuse to bring Spock along for the journey to Earth.

"Loving pet, you will be missed, and may your body return to the earth to nourish those who mourn for your passing. So let it be." Jim made an old gesture, that of his two hands pressing together, palms flat against one another, and then let his arms straighten, splaying his fingers. After holding it for a moment, he let his arms fall limp.

"I thought you weren't listening during the funeral," Spock said, feeling impressed despite himself. Jim was smart, he knew that, but he could be so scatterbrained, it was difficult to tell what he would be able to remember more easily than other, important things. Like where his homework went.

"I've been to a few. My aunt died when I was eight and I remember that weird gesture most of all. Mom said it was an old Christian gesture called 'praying'." Jim shrugged and flopped back on the ground, wincing as a particularly pointed crystal made itself known to Jim's rear.

"You are not Christian?" Spock was not religious himself, but he knew some humans advocated a 'God' or even more than one, but in the society of Earth where every government was afraid of stepping on toes, religion was to be kept strictly in the household or their religious buildings of worship; nothing more, nothing less. The topic was heatedly debated on almost every planet, especially the ones where Starfleet was stationed, because they also advocated private religion, unlike some alien races.

"Mom was. Kept a cross and everything. I haven't believed in God since I was told how Dad died."

Spock did not know quite how to respond to that. So he didn't. They sat there, reveling in this new level of understanding, this new connection to each other that made friendship possible. Spock knew how Jim felt, had experienced the emotions he so valiantly tried to suppress. Jim understood it was just as difficult for Spock to lose something precious as it was for Jim to. While the circumstances were different, Jim could finally relax with the firm knowledge that he was no longer alone in this confusing sea of grief and doubt.

Later that night, after the pair had come home and were eating their evening meal with Sarek and Amanda, the adults simply could not figure out what had transpired between the two to make them share quick little glances that brought smiles to Jim's face and eased the tension out of Spock and maybe, just maybe, was responsible for why Spock's ears were slowly but steadily turning green. Sarek chalked it up to another brief adventure, though he had the feeling his talk with Jim hadn't been lost in the haze of painkillers and emotion.

Call it mother's instinct, Amanda thought with a secret smile of her own, but she had the feeling that something good had happened and the boys were all the closer for it.

* * *

**One Year Later**

**Spock - 14 Jim - 13**

"You realize this is very foolish, Jim."

"Those bastards deserve it. Tomorrow's testing, they'll be in for a big surprise once - I - finish - this!"

Spock sighed lightly and flicked his eyes back and forth. The learning floor was completely empty, save for the two teens currently occupying a bowl. Jim had managed to pry off one of the panels and was busy tinkering around with the wires. Spock was reluctantly keeping watch, for a small part of him did want those bullies to get their comeuppance. Exposure to Jim resulted in human thinking and various random outbursts, including spontaneous laughter and violence. Not that that had ever happened to Spock as far as he was willing to admit, but he would have enjoyed the ability to test it in laboratory conditions.

"Even if you understood the mechanics, I highly doubt you would be able to hack into the educational database. They only rework the lessons every few years to make sure they are still advanced enough to meet planet-wide standards."

"Done!" Jim chirped. "Now, if you want to do this right, we should record a never-ending question. I'll do it, don't worry.." He cleared his throat and tapped a few keys, grinning as he said, "Question: Who's your daddy? Answer: James T. Kirk and Spock, bitch!"

He drew back, pumping his fist. "He'll never get it right! His scores will go down so much it's not even funny!"

"This is cruel and unnecessary, Jim," Spock called down from the floor. "Even if he is a bully, he does not deserve to be held back a level for a prank."

Jim stood, wiping the sweat off his brow and leaving behind a streak of grease. "Listen, Spock," Jim started, face twisting into a frown. "Guys like that deserve to be pranked. You don't insult someone's parents and company for three months and not get some payback, alright?" He quickly replaced the panel and sealed it with a squirt of starship-class glue.

Spock decided that appealing to Jim's logic wasn't going to work and folded his arms over his chest, taking a breath. "Dude Jim, I think it is totally off the hook that you are willing to do such a thing for my sake, but it is so like unfair to him. I would appreciate it if you totally took it back, though."

Jim turned around, mouth hanging open and both eyebrows raised. He appeared completely speechless.

After copious amounts of blinking and making odd choking noises, Jim managed to say, "What?"

"I was attempting to use your Earth lingo to connect with you and convince you to stop."

"Don't ever do it again, alright?"

Spock's eyebrow lifted for a moment and he nodded. "It sounded much more awkward than it did in the holo I watched."

"Yeah." Jim shrugged and pulled himself out of the bowl, stretching and rubbing his back. "I hate being bent over for so long!"

They strode off quickly, Spock's longer legs eating up the ground so Jim had to practically jog to keep up. At least he'd grown a bit so they were sort of eye to eye, height wise. Spock was still a level ahead, and it was only because Jim's level had gotten out early one day did he see the extent of the bullying.

He'd walked out to see Spock being shoved and insulted, again and again and again. And he just stood there and took it, how they said his father was a fool and his human friend was an animal. Jim couldn't restrain himself and ended up unconscious, being carried home by Spock because he'd picked a fight with three older Vulcan boys.

"They so deserve it," Jim muttered to himself as they snuck through town. Jim had dragged Spock out to the educational facility in the middle of the night, regardless of wild predators or the chilling temperatures or wandering insomniacs and set to work on the bowls of the bullies. It had taken several hours to figure out how, exactly, to hack into them and more to figure out that the question had to be vocal, but in the end, Jim had worked it all out.

"I still do not agree with you," Spock said matter-of-factly as he opened the door to their home and slipped inside. It was lucky for both of them that Sarek and Amanda slept deeply enough not to notice such late night activities. They crept quietly up to their bedroom and Jim flopped wearily on his bed, ready for some sleep. He had just closed his eyes when Amanda gently shook his shoulder.

"Time to get up and eat. I let you sleep in a bit, so you'll have to eat quickly if you want to get to school on time. Good luck on your test!" Amanda smiled happily and left, most likely going and busying herself with fixing Sarek breakfast.

Jim groaned and sat up, swiping at his eyes. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tried to muster the energy required to move. Not far from him, Spock picked himself up and began his normal morning routine, glancing occasionally at Jim, who sat with his head in his hands, almost asleep.

"I presume you slept well," Spock said blandly.

"Shut up."

Jim managed to slip into clean clothes and stagger down, grab his toast, and stumble out the door where Spock was waiting. "Ugh," he moaned. "Remind me never to stay up that late again."

"I tried to advise against that course of action, Jim, but you wouldn't listen," Spock reminded him as they passed through the great doors they had just been through a few scant hours ago. The familiar architectural designs had not faded over time; in fact, they looked as if they had been implemented just the day before. Such ornamentation was arranged in a completely logical manner, upheld and honored with the best of them.

"So says the guy who doesn't need to sleep 'cause his hormones have finally kicked in," Jim snarked, and instead of turning down his hall, he continued to follow Spock, who wasn't surprised by the move at all. Jim's own testing was done on a different day and he was rather fond of skipping in favor of watching Spock instead. Indeed, he often joked that he learned more watching Spock's learning programs than he did his own. Spock did not find it very humorous.

"So it may be. Amanda is growing concerned, however, about when you will finally enter puberty." Spock stepped down into his bowl and looked up at Jim. "You are going to observe?"

Jim shrugged. "Yeah, but I mostly want to see their faces when the never-ender comes up." He smirked. Never-ending questions were notoriously difficult and only given when a child was being insolent. A question that had a time limit as well as being on a loop: answer it wrong, it would come back. They were usually more complicated than the other material being covered and had the effect of nearly destroying one's rank in the class. Jim had gotten one once for disobedience and dropped from first to thirteenth.

Right on cue the blue flashed up along the slopes of the various bowls and faded immediately into the red of testing. Jim sat down cross-legged next to Spock's bowl and relaxed, closing his eyes and waiting for the big moment. It took a while, and Jim had nearly nodded off completely when the sudden chime of a newly-made question alerted him.

"Who's your daddy?"

It was even in Jim's voice, a pre-pubescent squeak filled with triumph. After ten confused seconds, it repeated, louder and more insistent. Young Vulcan children in the bowls around the bullies' began to look around, trying to locate the source of the disruption, trying to concentrate over the never-ending question that blared from three of the pits.

"Who's your daddy?"

Jim stuffed a fist into his mouth to keep from laughing, drawing the curious stares of no small amount of learners. His presence was not exactly forbidden - most children were intelligent to realize missing school was a bad thing, unlike Jim, who went on and off because he knew he was smart enough to jump any time he felt the need - but still a rare occurrence and thusly a subject of interest.

"Who's your daddy?"

Spock rolled his eyes but tuned it out, a skill he had come to appreciate during the many misadventures he experienced with Jim, who seemed to be accident-prone and allergic to most every plant on the planet, and thus ended up sick in bed for several days out of the month.

"Who's your-"

The question was cut off mid-sentence as the power was cut. The room went dark and silent. Jim could hardly see his fingers in front of his face, though he imagined Spock could see just fine. Stifling his brief jealousy, he called down, "What happened?"

"Perhaps the instructors could not reroute the question into the database and stopped the flow of power to isolate the intrusion into their systems," Spock offered.

After a moment, the lights flicked back on, the bowls remaining in their off state as the stairs unfolded. The learners climbed out and clumped together, discussing various hypothesis for what, exactly, had happened and the connection to the loud and repetitive question.

Jim smirked and was about to gloat about it to Spock when his friend's expression changed. He stopped mid-climb to straighten, his eyes going flat and his muscles tensing.

"Head Instructor Hydek." Spock bowed briefly. "To what do we owe the honor?"

"The human hacked into our systems and tampered with the database, interfering with the education of three of our finest students. That is grounds for expulsion."

"The human happens to be able to hear, dickwad," Jim growled under his breath, but clenched his hands into fists and forced himself to calm down. Attacking the teacher wasn't a good thing. He settled for cursing in his head at the old Vulcan.

"What proof do you have?" Spock said instead, voice level and cool. The picture of emotional control, even as his friend was being threatened with permanent expulsion. Spock didn't want to even attempt to explain that to his mother.

"Several community members spotted a pair of young children wandering around last night, voice patterns of the question match that of the human's, and there is panel grease on his forehead. The evidence is logical and quite conclusive."

"What could Jim do to make up for this error?" Spock forced out, sending Jim a scathing glare out of the corner of his eyes. Jim grinned sheepishly and gave a half-hearted shrug. It was painfully obvious that he was not the tiniest bit apologetic for sticking up for Spock, even in his own... unique way.

"Twenty hours of manual labor, to be decided at my discretion." Jim stuck his tongue out and flipped him the bird. The Vulcan, not being familiar with human hand gestures, decided it was some kind of insult and added, "Thirty hours."

"That sounds... logical," Spock agreed, and bowed once more. "It will not happen again, sir."

"If it does, no bargaining on your part, Spock, will allow the human through our doors again." Punishment given, the elder turned on one heel and swiftly made his way back through the doors to the room, allowing the rest of the children to trickle through after him. Soon, Jim and Spock were the only ones left.

"Bastard!" Jim yelled to the closed door. "You wouldn't do that to any Vulcan in here! You'd slap them on the wrist and commend them for getting into your goddamn system!" Turning away from Spock, he let out an angry yell and kicked the edge of the nearest learning bowl, which only had the effect of hurting his foot. He jumped up and down, swearing, and finally flopped to the ground, all gangly limbs and annoyed blue eyes.

"You are lucky you were not expelled," Spock pointed out. "As you would say, 'you owe me'."

"Yeah, yeah," Jim grumbled. "This sucks!"

His voice cracked, the jagged sound echoing around the room. Jim clapped his hands over his mouth, face gone pale and a mortified look replacing his anger in an instant. Spock favored Jim with a condescending look that said, I remember when this happened to me, and you are going to regret teasing me, though I am Vulcan and don't feel the need to extract such an illogical thing as revenge.

"You deserved that."

---

**Notes: **Sorry for the delay, I know I usually post an update on Tuesday and Thursday, but I was struck with inspiration for my X-Men fic and had to jot that all down before my brain exploded. -tries to look innocent for shameless plug-

Thanks again for everyone who reviewed! There are so many of you, I'm so happy! And if the beginning was a bit morbid, well, I got in three fights with my mom on Sunday, and it kind of depressed me. Thus, a funeral. Joy.

Three questions: Would you like to see Bones again? What do you think Jim would teach if he were a professor at Starfleet? If Jim wasn't captain, what would his post on the ship be? Got some ideas I may or may not use, depending on your responses.

A Speaker is like a non-denominational priest. Stolen shamelessly from Ender's Game (great book, I recommend), which I don't own. Don't own Star Trek either! Damn!

Leave a review, favorite it, alert it, draw a picture, send me snail mail, I don't care! Express your feelings, be they good or bad! Peace!


	10. ten

**One Year Later**

**Spock - 15 Jim - 14**

_Splash!_

Spock opened one eye to gaze calmly at Jim, who, for the third time this particular week, had tripped and gone tumbling into the spring. The human sat up quickly, spluttering and wiping the cool liquid out of his eyes, for, as it had the first two times, it stung something fierce. Different minerals and all that. Jim stood, muttering curses under his breath, and slogged out, scattering the small silver fish that haunted the depths.

"I hate this place," Jim remarked obtusely as he spat out another mouthful and wriggled out of his shirt, setting it down on the rocks next to him so it would dry.

"Which is why you continue to return," Spock said dryly, and opened his other eye. Jim shook his head back and forth, spraying droplets everywhere. "Could you not attempt to dry yourself off in a different fashion?"

"Don't like me with no shirt on?" Jim said, smirking, and stuck his lower lip out. "You wound me, Spock." Then he grinned and tilted his head back. "You're just jealous you don't have any chest hair, like me."

"I have explained to you several times that due to my heritage, I will most likely undergo a longer and more prolonged period of puberty than you." Spock let his muscles relax one by one as he realized his meditation was just about done.

"Sure, sure," Jim said airily, waving a hand as he clasped his hands behind his head and lay down, basking in the early afternoon sunlight.

"If you are planning to remain in the sunlight after your shirt dries, I suggest you apply the topical skin cream the doctor prescribed."

Jim snorted and rolled away so his back was facing the half-Vulcan. "I could care less about that. It smells, and it turns my skin blue."

"Without it, your frail human skin is exposed to potentially harmful UV rays, which could result in another sunburn," Spock said to Jim, who sat up and turned almost as red as he had a few months ago when he'd fallen asleep in the harsh Vulcan sun. When he awoke he couldn't move and his skin was littered with angry blisters that had required a three day stay in the hospital to recover from.

"Yeah, well, not everyone on this damn planet has your goddamn sun tolerance," Jim grouched, his good mood quickly souring as his hormones flared. "Or your fucking balance." He shot to his feet, grabbing his shirt and slinging it around his shoulders, stalking out from their spring and rapidly descending down the mountain.

Or trying to, anyways, for after a moment Spock heard a faint cry of pain as Jim took yet another tumble. Letting out a near-silent sigh, Spock fluidly rose to his feet, assessing the vocal patterns with an air of seasoned patience. From the pitch and intensity, Jim had stumbled and most likely cut his knees.

The sheer ability to understand Jim's latest injury because of the way he shouted in pain was testament to how often such a thing actually happened, Spock reflected. If he had been so inclined, he supposed he should feel disbelief or exasperation. As it was, he settled for realizing how illogical Jim could be and how useful such a skill could come in handy when associating with him.

He picked his way over the rocks that jutted out from the ground, silently thankful he had the balance he did. After the boy's latest growth spurts, only Jim was unsteady on his feet, liable to trip over air if it was in his way. Spock remained unflappable, even when faced with his body's blatant disregard for his comfort.

Spock picked out random details as he carefully made his way down, observing the texture of the walls of his most preferred clothing shop and the slight state of disrepair some of the roads were falling in to as he tried to locate Jim. They would need to take Jim to the hospital, again, because undoubtedly there would be bacteria in the dirt and Jim would have melodramatically rolled around in pain, smearing the dust in and around the cut itself.

There was no one else he had ever had the pleasure to meet that was as accident- and hospital-prone as Jim Kirk. It seemed a moral obligation to the human to get stuck in there for at least three weeks out of every year.

The noise that alerted Spock was small: the shifting of cloth against skin, of muffled shouts, and of sliding rocks down the hill. Instantly on the alert, he pressed himself into the stone wall surrounding the private path, creeping forward with all the skill of a hunter on the prowl. Poking his head out around the next curve, he inhaled sharply and drew back, panic kindling a small ember in the depths of his mind.

It was that being. The same one who had attacked them; the black markings along his forehead and cheeks were identical to the ones Spock summoned from his memory. In his iron grip, held still with a weapon to the temple, was Jim. One hand was wrapped almost gently around his mouth and the being ran thin fingers up and down his neck.

There was nowhere to go. The only place to run was up; that led back to the isolated spring, which perched in a divot on the edge of a cliff. The path was carved from the hill by laboring hands, and was surrounded by steep piles of rocks. Calling for help would alert the being to Spock's location and could potentially cost Jim his life. Spock was not willing to risk that.

Worry now beginning to war with the panic, creating a knot of tension in his gut, Spock stepped out with his hands held stiffly at his sides, fingers splayed and palms out.

"Run, you idiot," Jim hissed from behind the being's hand, who only clamped down harder on Jim's jaw, making Spock tense further.

"Why are you holding Jim captive?" Spock said instead. The being inclined his head and said nothing.

"What do you want from me?" he tried again.

"Cooperation," the being rasped immediately. "Do as I command, and I will not harm him." As if to emphasize just what advantage he had over the human, he pressed down with a fraction of his strength and Jim began to thrash about, hands scrabbling to remove the obstacle impeding his ability to breathe. Spock could only watch with furious eyes as Jim slowly and agonizingly lost consciousness, finally falling limp in his captor's grip.

"You have nothing to gain by kidnapping us. My father is an ambassador and a member of the Academy Council. Many important members of the High Council have children worth abducting. Neither Mother or Father will consent to pay ransom." Well, his father wouldn't. Grief and worry were emotions Vulcans had long since abandoned, and he would accept the fact his son had gone. Amanda would fret, and mourn, but would get over it... Spock hoped.

"On the contrary," the being said with a smirk as he slung the unconscious Jim over one shoulder with ease and pulled out a communicator with his now-free hand, relocating the weapon Spock suspected to be some kind of phaser to the half-Vulcan's side where his heart lay, beating quickly.

_How does he know about my different physiology? I am the only half-blood on the planet, and my medical records are kept strictly private..._

"Hold still. We are beaming back up to the ship."

Every ounce of logic Spock possessed was shouting at him to run, to leave. Jim was a human, emotional and overbearing, not worth risking his own life over, not when Spock could run and inform the High Council about this Vulcan look-alike. But some part of him - the part he suspected to be his human self - balked at abandoning his one true friend, the only person on the planet besides his mother who could remotely stand to be around him without leaving in disappointment or disgust.

Decision made, he bowed his head and stood silently, every muscle thrumming with tense energy. The being grinned ferally, baring his teeth in a not-quite smile.

Motes of light danced around his torso and Spock steadied himself, his body whirling and flashing as he was ripped apart, atoms flinging themselves across space into the belly of a starship. He stabilized, the light flickering out as he became whole once more. Spock repressed a shiver as the cooler air blasted him in the face.

"We are here. I request-"

"Denied," the being said smoothly, and with one hand tossed Jim at Spock, who caught the unconscious teen with a soundless grunt. "You, lock the beam frequency," he ordered the technician, brandishing his weapon, and the ensign scurried to obey in the face of the modified phaser.

"Locked, sir, no one can beam aboard unless they enter the access codes, which only I know." He saluted sharply, and was promptly shot in the forehead. Spock swallowed, and silently thanked the Ancestors that Jim was not awake to see this. The modified phaser was not as clean as standard Starfleet issue: it left a ragged hole in the man's head, oozing blood and charred flesh. Even Spock, who had seen enough battle footage for tactics and knew what death looked like, turned his head away from the eyes that were beginning to glaze over in death.

"Follow me, or I promise you that boy you keep company with will not live to see the sun rise." Spock resisted the urge to point out that they wouldn't see a sunrise, per se, because they were aboard a ship, instead readjusting Jim in his grip and reluctantly trailing behind the being. Passengers and crew members alike shrank back as they strode down the halls, the former trembling fearfully and the latter giving shaking salutes.

The slight walk did nothing for Spock; he was running through scenarios in his mind, trying to figure out a way to get them out without getting themselves killed. No potential outcomes looked good, either requiring the sacrifice of their lives or the lives of the beings onboard.

"Please, make yourself at home." Their abductor bowed mockingly and held his arm out, gesturing at a thin door, which slid open at his command. Inside, it revealed a row of berths, all save one which were empty. "Stay quiet, make no attempts to escape, and I might let you go." He gave one final nod to Spock and shoved him into the room, uncaring as it sent the teen reeling and nearly threw him off balance.

Spock gently set Jim down on the bed, turning to regard the only other occupant of the room with guarded eyes.

"Sam?" A morbid chuckle floated down to his ears. "Well, I s'pose your real name is Spock, huh." It wasn't a question.

Spock inclined his head briefly, and murmured in a neutral voice, "Leonard McCoy."

"So, I see you got a personal escort from the good ol' Cap." The man swung his legs over the top bunk and landed heavily on his feet, nearly falling over as he staggered down the aisle to get to the kids. "What the hell are you doing here?"

In clipped tones, Spock explained the situation resulting in their incarceration. Once he had finished, his voice took on a slight edge as he asked, "And what are you doing aboard, Mr. McCoy?"

There was a flash of blue as he rolled his eyes and snorted, reaching behind him to find a bed to sit on. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and replied, "Thought I'd get some alien education. I've decided to become a doctor." The ship lurched suddenly, skewing all occupants to the left and sending McCoy to the floor.

"I hate flying," he hissed as he picked himself off the floor and settled himself back onto the bed. "Why I bothered to do this is beyond me..." He sent a speculative look in Spock's direction, and seemed to make up his mind. "Here, let me take a look at him," he said suddenly and made his way slowly over to Jim's side. He did not miss the way Spock ever-so-slightly tensed, nor the way he subtly shifted so he was directly in front of Jim.

"I'm not going to hurt him," McCoy said impatiently. "I'm in medicine. Well, working on it. Almost a doctor. Do you mind?" Spock flicked his eyes up and down, sizing McCoy up, and seemed to decide that he wasn't a threat. He took a half-step to the right in response.

"I feel obligated to warn you that if you are lying, I am fully capable of rendering you unconscious and escaping."

McCoy stifled a laugh as he pressed the inside of his wrist to Jim's forehead and checked for a pulse with his other hand. "Please. You're a beanpole. You probably couldn't even walk straight. Puberty got your legs?"

Slim, burning fingers closed along a specific cluster of nerves along his collarbone and McCoy stilled. "Not exactly."

Awkward and tense silence slowly began to thicken around the two. The dangerous moment was abruptly shattered as Jim jerked awake, sitting bolt upright and slamming his head on the bottom of the upper bunk. He fell back with a curse, one hand grabbing his head and the other fisting in the sheets.

"Jim," Spock said, and the youngest of the three groaned.

"Now what? Please tell me that wherever we are, we at least have food. I'm starving."

McCoy chuckled and stood, throwing out one hand to steady himself as the ship jerked again, clapping the other to his mouth.

"Are you ill?" Spock was staring at him with his head tilted, like he was some kind of observer in an experiment.

"Naw," McCoy lied, waving off his concern. "Just get a little airsick, that's all." _And a little air-terrified, but there's no need to tell you that_.

Jim sighed loudly, drawing all attention back to him. He had relaxed a bit, using his hands as a makeshift pillow as he stared at nothing in particular. "So. Spock. I got attacked, obviously, but I definitely don't remember beaming up. That jackass must have one helluva grip, to strangle me like that." He barked out a self-depreciating laugh and slid out of the bunk in a few stumbling steps.

McCoy caught sight of Jim, who already had the beginnings of bruises blossoming around his mouth and jaw, and put one hand on his chest. "Oh no you don't," he growled. "Asphyxiation is serious. If you were knocked out, you lost brain cells. You need to rest."

"I'll be fine." Jim swatted the hand away and stared up at McCoy with a sneer on his face. "You can't boss me around, anyway. I'm not a kid anymore."

"Right, so just because you grew a pair means you're invincible? Try again." McCoy flicked his eyes down and caught sight of Jim's mangled kneecaps, smeared with Vulcan dirt and dried blood. "And you'll be lucky if that doesn't get infected," he added imperiously. "Damn, if that pointy eared bastard hadn't confiscated my bag..." He glanced at Spock. "No offense."

"I will survive, I am sure."

Jim shifted his attention to Spock, an intense frown making him wince as a flash of pain wove through his anger. "What the hell were you thinking?" he growled, and clenched his hands into fists. "Why didn't you run and go get help?!"

"I was not willing to risk your life, nor was I able to find an alternate route away from the being that attacked you," Spock replied calmly. "I would have thought such... human stubbornness would have rung true with your decision, had our positions been switched."

Jim narrowed his eyes and took a step closer, tilting his head up so he could meet Spock's eyes easier. "Who says I even needed your help? I had it under control."

"Of course. That is why in one move he rendered you unable to breathe. I am sure it was all part of your plan," Spock said cuttingly. Tiny lines of tension creased in the corner of his eyes and his jaw tightened.

"Well... uh... shut up!" Jim shoved Spock, who rolled with the blow and took a single step backwards. "I don't always need your help, Spock!"

"Considering you are the one who usually ends up in trouble, I would consider that particular statement false," Spock said tightly. "Your body is frail and weak. Your mind is unstructured. You allow your haphazard emotions to control your actions. You are essentially-"

"A what?" Fury lit Jim's eyes from within and his voice became dangerously low. "Just a human? Is that what you were going to say? Yeah, I am. And so is your mother." Spock was taken aback by the mention of Amanda, and Jim sensed that victory could be his. He sprang on the possibilities, all common sense gone. "Did you forget so easily? That you feel those emotions too? That no matter what, Sarek isn't going to look at you like his son because he is a pure Vulcan and all you are is a mangy half-blood?" A half-smile twisted his face into a devious smirk. "She probably feels sorry for you and doesn't even love you!"

Jim was abruptly grabbed by the throat and slammed into the metal frame of the berths. He scrabbled at the burning hand for a moment and, as spots began to dance around under his fluttering eyelids, he realized that Spock was not holding back, that, for the first time, he was well and truely angry. After one heart-stopping moment, as his breath fell short and his lungs began to burn, McCoy grabbed Spock's wrist, locking his eyes with the half-Vulcan.

After a moment, Spock swallowed and let Jim go, watching impassively as he slid down to sit on the floor, coughing and choking, rubbing the raw skin around his neck where Spock had held him. Even as he probed the swollen skin he could practically feel the bruises beginning to darken and bloom under his skin.

"What the hell was that?" McCoy snarled, spinning Spock around, but the better portion of his anger disappeared in a puff of smoke as he caught the absolute look of despair in the older teen's dark eyes. "Hey, it was one argument. Nothing big. It got a little physical, but when doesn't it?"

Spock was silent. McCoy turned to glance at Jim, who was resolutely looking anywhere but Spock. He stood, stretching, and said in a far too cheerful voice, "I'm going to go explore. Be back whenever." He strolled forward in a jaunty walk, slid out the door, and was gone. McCoy sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.

"Teenagers," he muttered, then shook his head roughly and forced himself to think about the situation on hand.

"I should not have allowed my temper to control me," Spock murmured, his head bowed as he stood still, tense and obviously unhappy. "I have injured Jim."

"It's okay," McCoy said. "Truth be told, the little idiot probably needed that. Wallowing in pity like that... if he'd been insulting me, I'd've probably done the same thing. 'Cept maybe I would've punched him." He shrugged. "That's the way younger siblings are, I guess."

Spock looked up with shuttered eyes. "While your efforts are appreciated, they are also illogical and based on your outside perspective. I believe it would be best if I were to be left alone to meditate." Ignoring McCoy's half-formed protests, he calmly walked to the opposite side of the room and appeared to fold in on himself, sitting with the grace of... well, an alien.

"Damn it. I'm almost a doctor, not a psychologist."

* * *

Jim peered around the corner of the wall, his blue eyes flicking back and forth as he scanned the halls for any sign of that insane abducting-attacker guy. When it was clear, a lazy grin slid onto his face and he strolled out, hands in his pockets, nodding politely to any stray person he happened to run into. They all seemed harried and frightened; Jim could attest. He was on a strange ship, he'd been kidnapped... maybe they were in the same boat, maybe not.

He spotted a lift and slid into the cylindrical tube just before the doors shut. After quietly intoning the best place to figure out what was going on, he grabbed hold of the projection off the wall and tried to contain his slowly growing feeling of guilt.

It wasn't like they'd never fought before, Jim thought stubbornly. They had their unspoken rules, subjects they did not want to discuss or have used as fodder against them. Jim had shattered that when he had accused Spock of never being actually loved.

"He could have done the same damn thing," he muttered to himself. "Honor doesn't do you anything unless you're dead, and even then it only makes for good stories."

Spock had had control until then. No fight between them had ever quite escalated into exchanging blows. There had been times where it was a close thing, such as when Jim had run off with all his clothes on the day of the level test. Spock had come very close to punching him in the face, but he had restrained himself, because he was a _Vulcan_ and he could _control his temper._ Jim snorted.

"Bridge," the computerized voice droned. The lift doors slid open with a soft ping and, as one, every person at a console or station shifted in their seats to face him. After a beat of silence, the captain's chair slowly twisted around, revealing the being, lazily propping his head up with one fist. Dark, angry eyes glinted under a tangled mess of ink spread across his forehead, lined by more of the intricately knotted designs on his cheekbones.

"Ah, so the great James T. Kirk finally decides to join us at last," he purred, rising to his feet. Jim blinked, and suddenly everything in his line of vision was that being, from his sallow skin to the heavy purple smears under his eyes. "Please. Come in."

Fingers like iron bars wrapped around his arm and after a moment of intense surprise, he fought. Violently, twisting, turning, biting, screeching for help. All he received were sorrowful stares in return. Finally, after what had seemed like an eternity of movement and struggle, he was tossed to the ground. He levered himself up and prepared to fight for all he was worth, but a morbid chuckle caught his attention. He whirled around and almost managed to contain the slight flinch from the man glaring down from the over-sized viewscreen.

"Hmm..." The face, similarly marked but with a bite scar over part of his head and one ear, tilted his head and studied the human before him. Thin... little muscle... bruises ringing his throat and mottled across his jaw... startlingly bright blue eyes and a mop of dusty dark blond hair. "He looks little like the Starfleet admiral in the holos. Are you quite sure this is the correct boy?"

The abductor nodded gravely. "Of course, Captain. Certain... circumstances have led to minor changes in appearance. The blue is from radiation. He was birthed in space." He paused, adopting a lighter, more delicate tone. "Aboard a shuttle from the _Kelvin_, if I recall correctly."

The screen-man was silent. "Lieutenant Tena, if there is more, tell me lest I lose my temper. I dislike when important information is withheld from me." Jim swallowed and edged away.

Whatever his name was, he sure as hell looked like someone would lose a head in the name of his temper.

"I... brought _him_ along as well."

It was like an explosion rocked the viewscreen as the other being began to shout and scream in a language full of harsh, throat-clogging sounds. The one called Tena stood there, head bowed, taking in every grating word even as Jim clapped his hands over his ears.

The screaming had been going on for a solid ten minutes when Jim had finally had enough.

"SHUT THE FUCKING HELL UP!" he bellowed.

A cruel grin flickered on his face and the viewscreen man sighed in mock concern. "My apologies, James T. Kirk. I have quite rudely forgotten my Standard manners. I am Nero. You will be living with me as soon as this-" he interjected another grating, harsh word "-can learn to get proper engineers for ships. I await your arrival." He gave another order in that same language and was about to cut the connection when Jim interjected.

"What if I don't want to?" he snarled stubbornly.

Nero was silent. He inclined his head, shadows dripping down and pooling under his eyes, so only two sharp glints of malice remained. "What?" It was poisonous and acidic and frightening, but Jim had faced worse things than a pissed off alien. Like a pissed off alien friend he'd been living with that he had just insulted in the worst way possible.

"I don't want to. Free choice, remember? I say no. I'm doing fine where I am. But thanks," he added with an impish grin. "Appreciate the offer."

"It was not an offer, boy," Nero growled, and for all the world he looked as if he were ready to leap through the communications channel and tear out Jim's throat himself. "That was an order."

"I've never done well with those," Jim replied thoughtfully, and flicked him the bird. A stifled chuckle behind him made Jim smile: at least one crewmember aboard appreciated his trouble for authority.

Nero growled silently and bared his teeth, slashing the air in front of him with his ever-present staff. "If you do not obey, I can assure you that... _Spock_ will not be living come tomorrow." Jim's throat closed, and he ground his teeth together, going for the bluff.

"So what? We had a fight. He can't trust me to take care of myself. He's overbearing, pushy, and an interfering busybody. If he died, I'd probably be glad." His trademark cocky half-grin made its way back onto his face, and he crossed his arms over his chest in a nonchalant kind of way. "Go ahead. Make my day."

"With pleasure." He nodded somewhere off behind Jim with hatred engraved in every line of his face.

Ice trickled into Jim's stomach and he whirled around, taking in with wide eyes how still Spock stood, and how resolutely he avoided Jim's probing gaze. Behind him stood the captain of the vessel, who eased Spock forward so he was in full view of the maniacal Nero as well. With one hand clamped around the back of Spock's neck, he used the other to unclip the weapon he kept at his side. He tossed it over to Jim, who nearly dropped it in his surprise.

Jim turned the phaser over in his hands, grasping it tightly as if he were afraid it would go off if he dropped it. Hands trembling, he looked up at Nero's expectant face.

"Spock..." he breathed. Then his eyes hardened, and he brought the phaser to bear. He could hear Nero cackling in delight, and nonexistant wind roaring in his ears, and the warmth of the phaser charging as his fingers found the buttons he remembered from the schematics in the learning bowls.

The world narrowed, a tunnel around the two of them. Jim could only see Spock, the only friend he had on a planet full of aliens, the person who saved his ass more than he cared to remember, who felt more than he was willing to ever admit aloud.

Jim and Spock. Spock and Jim.

He fired.

---

**Notes:**Oh, I love cliffhangers. Especially when I have big news that will make you all hate me more than you do for this lovely ending. (Just remember - things are not always as they appear... -insert spooky music here-) Thanks for all your reviews! We've broken two hundred by a fair margin! Whoa! Thanks for favoriting it! We've broke one hundred! Wow!

I don't own Star Trek, I just enjoy screwing around with the characters, making them miserable, and then having them be all the stronger because of it.

Ok. I'm ready. -pulls out protective phaser- I know it's been a while since I updated, and I'm sorry. Next week I have band camp, five days, with no internet access. Then after that I have two-a-day swim practices, two hours each. It's gonna be tough. Then, once August is finished, my senior year of high school starts, and then it's all gonna be homework, morning swim, marching band, afternoon swim, and on the weekends, me sleeping. It should all boil down around November, so don't be disappointed if updates take a week or two.

Just to clarify, for some who've already reviewed - I'm not gonna wait until November to update again. That's just cruel. I'm saying, though, that until then, updates will be sporadic and whatnot. Plz to not be biting my head off.

I fully expect to take flack for the ending, but it's all part of the plan. Kind of. Last thing, thanks for all your help with my questions, I have some good ideas spinning about that are sure to pop up somewhere along the line. Peace out!


	11. eleven

The phaser punched through the protective plate glass along the bridge, leaving a hole the size of a clenched fist from which radiated a small web of cracks. Almost immediately the atmosphere began rushing out, cooling the cherry-red edges and making any loose objects fly.

Jim lunged forward, planting one hand on Spock's shoulder and leaning around him to give the stunned Tena a solid smack on the temple with the weapon still glued to his fingers. The being dropped with a startled shout, and before he could get back to his feet, Jim had wrapped his free hand around Spock's arm and was tugging him away, pulling a hatch off its hinges and crawling into a Jeffries tube hidden around the corner of a console.

It was hot and cramped, with sparks flaring from their open casings every few feet. The journey was made all the more uncomfortable for the fact Jim could not seem to let go of Spock, and the fact his fingers could not let go of the phaser, which clanged harshly every time he scurried forward and used that hand to steady himself. Thoughts whirled through his head and he couldn't think and he was having trouble breathing and was it just him or did this thing seem to be getting smaller - ?

"Jim, you must calm down. If you continue, you will likely hyperventilate."

Spock. He could think about Spock. Dark eyes, intense and foreboding some days, but with a sardonic sense of humor that he only seemed to pull out at their spring, and even then on rare occasions. It was easy to think about Spock: he was practically his brother. Technically, they were, but they'd never considered it that way, Jim was sure, and goddammit, he was getting all rambly again.

Jim closed his eyes, forcing himself to ease his frantic inhalations to a more reasonable level of panic. After several minutes of making sure he could breathe without freaking out, he snagged his lower lip and worried it until it began to bleed, the harsh copper taste serving the purpose of steadying himself only more. His eyes cracked open, flitting back and forth, and he suddenly realized two things:

He still had hold of Spock's arm in an absolute death grip, and Spock was injured.

It was always hard to tell, because Spock had pain tolerance that made Jim's look pathetic, and he wore such dark clothes that any blood was nearly indiscernible. As it was, he merely quirked one eyebrow in his damnable way and allowed only a fraction of what he felt to bleed into his eyes.

Shame filled Jim abruptly, and it almost made him laugh. Years ago, he'd have never cared so much if someone had gotten injured. Hell, he'd probably point and heckle them. But... everything was different with Spock, and he couldn't understand why.

"You're hurt," Jim rasped, and reached out with the hand not locked around Spock to touch his chest. His fingers came back slicked with dark blood, and his voice grew frantic. "Why are you bleeding? We need to find McCoy!" He jerked forward, and a startling realization caught him in his tracks and forced the breath from his lungs.

"Jim-"

"I did it." His voice was flat. "I tried to create a distraction, and I hit you."

"Allowing for the extenuating circumstances-"

Jim cut him off with a harsh slash of one hand and Spock flinched back almost imperceptibly. The phaser was lit eerily in a fountain of sparks and Jim let it slip from his fingers, numbness creeping over his body. It fell and landed with an echoing clatter.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and ran a hand through his hair, gripping suddenly and giving a forceful yank, wincing as some strands were ripped free and he felt blood trickle in a little rivulet down his scalp. "I can't seem to do anything but fuck up. Always."

"Jim," Spock said, and now his voice was low and soothing, and his eyes full of concern. "I do not blame you. Those particular models are designed to burst the blood vessels, causing pain instead of death." He swallowed. "When you were unconscious, the being beamed us aboard and killed the transporter technician. It ruptured his brain: instant, painful death. The only injury I received was when the beam glanced my shoulder. With proper medical treatment, I will be fine. It is not your fault."

"You just don't get it, do you?" Jim said bitterly. "Anyone who gets close to me gets hurt. It happened to my family... it's going to happen to you too, unless you-"

_Slap._

To say Jim was shocked was a massive understatement. Spock had never hit anyone, not to his knowledge; that had always been his job. But it was right there on his face, he was sure: a red mark growing steadily darker as blood pricked under his skin, shaped like a delicate and long-fingered half-Vulcan he knew quite well. Almost without thinking, he reached his own hand up and brushed his fingertips over the tender skin.

"What the hell?"

"Jim, we have been living together for five years, two months, and three days. While it is true I have received injuries at your expense, the opposite is true as well. Several times, because you are my friend, you have been injured also. I will not allow you to fall into self-pity. It is illogical."

He said this in a perfectly even tone, as if it were fact, which, in some respect, Jim supposed it could be considered such. But, coupled with a flare of sparks and the barriers that had already been lowered because of pain, it meant so much more. It was Spock saying I know I get hurt, and so do you, so shut up and deal with it, I'm not letting you go kill yourself because you can't seem to walk without receiving death threats or nearly dieing. In a way.

A faint smile twitched on Jim's face and it was very nearly mirrored on Spock's, but he managed to keep his face straight. "I think it is prudent that we evacuate all passengers and alert the nearest planet of our position," Spock said after a moment. Then he quite promptly passed out.

Jim was suddenly faced with an armful of unconscious Vulcan. "Spock?" he whispered. He gave him a little shake for emphasis. Spock remained still. "Very funny," Jim said a bit too loudly, and flipped the body over so Spock's pale face was looking up at him, drawn and tight even now. "Seriously. The speech and slap worked, but you don't need to pass out to prove a point."

No answer. Jim felt his situation slam into sudden clarity. His worries and concerns and fears and everythings were stripped from him and he found he could see farther down into the darkness, could feel every fiber scraping with raw intensity over his bare skin and feel Spock become light in his arms. He always had worked better under pressure. It had been both a blessing - saving his ass on more then one occasion - and a curse - eliminating the need to do anything until absolutely necessary - but it made little difference.

Jim managed to slip the heavy school uniform off his friend, wadding the fabric into a rough ball and pressing it to the shallow divot carved out of Spock's body just above his collarbone. Once he had managed to slow the steady trickle of dark blood that was staining his knees as well as killing Spock, he ripped a strip off his own shirt and wrapped it around the wad, tieing it quickly. Spock saved for the moment, he turned, knelt, and hauled him onto his back, limp arms falling about his face.

"Just gimme a sec," he muttered, and readjusted his center of balance for the extra weight. Swallowing thickly, he shuffled forward, head bowed but eyes blazing. He didn't know for how long or how far he crawled, just that the burning heat of Spock was beginning to dull down by degrees and he didn't know where he was at all. There was little to do but hope that that bastard Tena wasn't waiting at the end and that he wouldn't come out staring down the barrel of a phaser.

He somehow shimmied down a level, very nearly dropping the shallowly-breathing body slung across his back, and decided that dicking around wasn't going to save lives and that the access hatch in front of him was as good as any. With one hand Jim pushed it open just a bit, peering out. No shadows danced along the halls and he slunk out, adrenaline keeping his steps light as he crouched low to the ground.

Red lights flashed in time with Jim's erratic heartbeat, but the usual wailing of sirens was oddly absent. "Sickbay, then," Jim decided, and gently set Spock down on an empty bed. Instantly the familiar diagnostic signs adjusted to the body on its sensors; everything was abnormal - not totally unexpected, those things weren't set for a half-Vulcan - save the blood pressure, which was near the bottom of the screen.

"Blood, he needs blood, something to make the cells divide faster," Jim muttered as he loped over to the shelves, rummaging through packaged hypos and bottles of vaccinations. "Goddammit!" he shouted, clenching his fists and pressing his forehead into the glass.

"Need some help?"

"Mr. McCoy!" Jim whirled around, relief pulsing through him. "Spock was shot, he's lost a lot of blood, can you help?!"

The older man stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Yes, but you need to relax. Those medicinal supplies you're leaning against are important, you know." McCoy tilted Jim's head up, taking stock of the way his eyes were blackness rimmed with blue, and the way his hands were trembling just a little, and how his careful focus was dimming into a daze precursory of acute stress reaction.

"Sit," he said firmly, and tugged Jim over to a chair he pulled up next to Spock's bed. Once Jim was sitting still, he rummaged through a drawer and pulled out his tricorder, quickly ran it over Spock, and nodded. Just blood loss and fatigue, then. He could fix that. He hoped.

One quick hypo and an actual bandage later, Jim was staring blankly as the charts slowly - so fucking slowly - began to stabilize.

"You okay, kid?"

Jim blinked slowly. "Yeah."

McCoy snorted. "'Course you are, you've just been running for your life. The Cap's been shooting passengers left 'n right, damn determined to whittle down the life sign readings until he finds you."

"Okay." Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale...

"Jim!" McCoy said sharply, and blew out a harried breath. "Goddammit, Jim, he'll be fine. Worrying about it won't help." He pulled up his own chair and propped his head on his fist, thinking. "Cap's gonna keep looking for you-"

"Why do you keep calling that bastard Captain?" Jim growled, anger flaring in all its sudden burning glory. "He's just a dog, and you use a title that demands respect!"

"What would you rather me do?" McCoy barked. "The last medical officer on this vessel was murdered when he refused to treat his wounds! If anyone wants to get out of here alive, most especially you and Spock-" he jerked his head and Jim flinched "-I have to be able to treat them with this equipment. So don't you dare accuse me of respecting that godforsaken pointy-eared bastard, understand?"

Jim nodded, his eyes wide. "Okay," he said in a small voice. "When did that happen? The other doctor getting killed, I mean."

"'Bout ten minutes ago," McCoy said breezily. Even Jim could hear the pain and loathing hidden under layers of cheerfulness. "Good experience to write down on my resume. 'Served for about two hours under homicidal maniac who kidnapped children and will most likely eat them'."

"I was not aware that being consumed was a risk." Spock blinked up at them wearily, and pulled himself upright, one hand rising to probe his now-covered wound and the other balling in his lap. Jim's face brightened and he only just barely resisted the urge to throw his arms around him and thank him for not dying.

"You're okay," Jim breathed. "You're okay..."

"I see Mr. McCoy has put his medicinal knowledge to accurate use," Spock noted, but winced as he rolled his shoulders. "I expect he used the most basic of blood replenishers?"

"Were you expecting me to use something fancier?" McCoy snapped, a frown working its way onto his face. "Not all ships are as well-stocked as your Vulcan hospitals, I'm quite sure."

"I think he was talking about how he's different than most Vulcans and some medicines have different effects on him," Jim defended, brows furrowing. "His joints are swollen. It's happened before, don't worry about it." At McCoy's disbelieving look, he shook his head. "Long story, tell you some other time," Jim said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand.

"What exactly were you planning on accomplishing by running off into the tube systems?" McCoy asked instead. He wanted off this damn ship with its crazy teenage passengers and its insane captain that he currently had little choice in serving. If he wanted the kids to get out alive, he'd play the loyal card, but not for long, and while it might rip him up inside, he wasn't about to sacrifice two young boys for his pride.

"Um..."

"It seemed logical at the time to get as far away from the being at the time," Spock supplied helpfully.

"Who, the Romulan? Tena?" At Jim's narrowed eyes, McCoy took that for an affirmative.

"Romulan?" Spock asked, one brow lifting briefly. "We have not had contact with that race in more than fifty years. It is highly unlikely one rogue would be able to do so much damage without permission from their leading governing body."

"That's the thing, though," McCoy said, tapping the side of his face. "He's a rebel or something. Only ever answers to the one with the bite scar. Those marks? They're big-time important. When Cap came by to get patched up, he warned me not to screw with them or else he'd kill me too. They only put them on in such complicated designs when they're in mourning. Over what, though, I don't know."

"I might," Jim said quietly. "I killed his brother. When... when my family was killed... I killed the guy, then a few years ago, this one attacked too, and said I killed his brother..." He trailed off, suddenly furious. "How dare that bastard put us here?" he fumed. "I'm gonna go punch his lights out!"

Jim shot to his feet, every muscle taut, and was only saved from certain death by McCoy, who happened to know what the random chirp meant. With a hissed "Get down!" he shoved Spock off the bed and into Jim, pushing them into the supply closet and leaving the door open just a crack. Behind him, Jim could feel Spock's barely concealed trembles, every movement sparking even more pain in his swollen joints.

"Human!" Tena bellowed, stalking in.

"Yes," McCoy ground out, then added spitefully, "_Captain_."

Though Jim couldn't see, he was sure that Tena was steaming mad. "According to my scans, there were three people in this sickbay not too long ago." He paced back and forth in front of McCoy, who remained stiff. One gloved hand reached up and traced a line down McCoy's jaw, then just as fast backhanded him into the opposite wall. Jim clamped down on his tongue and felt hot blood fill his mouth.

"If I find you have been hiding them, not even my pressing need for a medical officer will keep you from an airlock," Tena growled, and whirled around, cloak flapping in his haste.

McCoy picked himself up, sending a hateful glare in the direction of the bay doors before limping over and kneeling down. "Sorry," he said gruffly and dragged Jim out. "We need to get out of here, but I don't know where we are or where the nearest outpost is. He knows you're here, and if you've got any ideas, now's the time."

Jim was at a loss, then slowly, oh so slowly, an idea began to take shape in his brain. It was risky, and had a very large chance of failing utterly and ending up with them dead, but staying here meant they'd be dead for sure, and that wasn't a possibility.

"This does not promise to be an idea condusive to our health," Spock sighed morbidly. McCoy shot him an incredulous look.

"You have a sense of humor?"

"Sometimes," Jim cut in, and his grin could have outshone the sun. "Listen... I have a plan..."

* * *

"Captain!"

Tena turned around, eyes dark and murderous. It was that human doctor, who'd protested - quite heatedly, until he'd been slapped into the wall - the treatment of both passengers and crew aboard. Setting his teeth, moving one hand to his side then remembering his phaser was probably on maintenance level by now, he regarded McCoy with barely concealed impatience.

"What now?" he snarled.

"Jim - James Kirk," McCoy said, and bit his lip, looking nervous. Tena raised one delicate brow.

"Yes?"

"He's dead," McCoy finished bluntly. Tena's insides clenched and he was filled with pure, unadulterated rage for one instant. His vision went red and when it cleared, there was a clear, fist-sized hole in the control panel at his left. Forcing himself into a calmer state, he requested the details.

"I found the body half-out of a hatch leading to the tubes. No pulse, little body warmth, already showing signs of rigor. He must've been there an hour ago, at least."

"Impossible," Tena hissed, and turned to face the only bridge screen that hadn't locked down to keep the ship from decompressing. Stars were sprinkled about, shining merrily in the velvet blackness. A longing ache - for home, for his brother who could never take anything seriously, from chores to actual missions - welled up inside. He squashed it irritably.

"If you'd follow me," McCoy murmured softly, and turned on one heel, taking long, even strides out through the sliding doors to the main hall. And right there, plain for all to see, was young James Kirk, hanging limply out of a hatch, blue eyes glazed and mouth slack.

Several explosive Romulan curses burned in his throat, but he settled for kneeling down and taking Jim's head in his hands. Behind him, McCoy tensed. One twist, and everything they planned...

With a sharp yank, the stiff body was tugged out. Out of suspicion and a healthy sense of paranoia, he peered down into the darkness of the tunnel, and even though his eyesight was miles ahead of a humans, he could not see anything. He hefted Jim's body into his arms and stomped back to the bridge, tossing it roughly to the ground as he entered a code only he knew to contact Nero and report his failure.

The viewscreen flickered briefly and a low, static buzz filled the bridge. No one dared to even breathe as the captain entered the frequency in once more, then again. Finally he let out a bark of frustration and cut the connection.

"Human!" McCoy walked over at a laughably slow pace, and for a moment Tena allowed himself to visualize knocking the fool through the walls, but the throbbing ache pulsing along his arm and shoulder warned him otherwise. "Has there been any tampering with my communications station?"

McCoy gave a half-shrug and rolled his eyes. "I'm a doctor, not a comm operator. What the hell would I be doing up here anyways?" Stars burst behind his eyes as Tena lashed out violently, sending him reeling and tumbling over the railing around the captain's chair. He landed in a boneless heap, muttering obscenities under his breath as he picked himself off and attempted to regain his dignity. He restrained his first impulse and settled for his second.

"And what do you expect to do if I'm dead, hmm? No one else has even a scrap of medical training. You'd be dead before you hit the next class M planet." At Tena's furious look, he gave a small grin. "I'm going back down to sickbay."

Tena snorted and turned; in that instant, McCoy lashed out, a hypo hidden up his sleeve sliding expertly into his palm as he jabbed it at Tena's neck. The contents released with a hiss, and even as Tena whirled around with death in his eyes, he staggered, dropped to one knee, and collapsed to the ground, jerking wildly and foam leaking out of the corners of his mouth. McCoy gave him a solid kick in the stomach, then hooked his arms under Tena's and began dragging him to the lift.

Let it not be said that Leonard McCoy wasn't vindictive when the opportunity presented itself.

He more or less shoved the limp body inside, called out for it to halt in between the engine room and the cargo bay, and watched with a satisfied smirk as the lift doors pinged shut.

"Alright," he called out to the skeleton crew manning the bridge. "That vaccine's only gonna last for about an hour. Can we head towards the nearest planet and find someone to contact?"

"We're bordering on Klingon neutral space, sir," one frightened Ensign called out from a star chart. "Course locked on. We'd need someone to hack into the mainframe and reset the coordinates. Fast, too, or else we'll be caught and executed for trespassing."

McCoy gave an exasperated sigh. "Great news," he muttered to no one, and rushed over to kneel by Jim's side. "Come on, come on," he whispered, lightly slapping Jim's cheek. Almost as if that had been a command, Jim blinked sluggishly and took a great choking breath. "Breathe, relax," he advised, patting Jim's back as the young teen returned to the world of the living. Behind him, one of the female crewmembers inhaled sharply.

"Is he gone?" Jim asked after a moment. At McCoy's nod, he stood, stretching. "Spock must've gotten the communications down, then, so now we just need to get going back home."

"One problem," McCoy interrupted, putting a steadying hand on Jim's shoulder. "Coordinates're locked in. Can we get your genius bud to come up and rewire some stuff?"

"Lift should be out, and he needs to meditate to get over the pain," Jim said dismissively and crawled under the captain's chair, peeling off a panel and giving the wires a sharp yank so they spilled out like so many multicolored intestines. "I can do it, it'll just take a bit longer, that's all." He stripped the casing off several, crossed them, and stood briefly to type in a few test commands.

McCoy watched with an open mouth as a skinny, tan, light-haired teenager essentially hotwired the navigation and reset the coordinates for Vulcan. Fifteen minutes later he popped back up, a weary but excited grin plastered on his face, and wiped the thin film of sweat that had gathered on his forehead on his shirt sleeve.

"You..." McCoy started, then seemed to lose his internal wind and just sighed. "Nevermind."

"Don't ask," Jim warned as he moved over to check the status of the engines. "You learn a lot in those Vulcan schools. Like how to hack into them, for example. Much more difficult. I'd thought this would be harder, but it's not Starfleet, so..." He trailed off, looking sheepish, then a cocky smile banished it and he laughed. "Don't look so shocked, McCoy," he teased.

"I'm going to stick to my medicine, if you don't mind," the older man said gruffly instead, and crossed his arms across his chest. "Whatever goes through that over-sized brain of yours is none of my business."

"And when you first met us, you said you didn't want to be a doctor," Jim reminded him, plopping down in the captain's chair and lounging.

McCoy had no answer for that and stayed silent. The viewscreen drew his eyes, and he could see the stars shifting as the autopilot finally rerouted the new coordinates to the engines. Impulse power turned them around in short, bobbing motions; to the simple-minded, it appeared as if the bright, burning gas balls were slowly drifting to the right. McCoy knew he was the one moving, and restrained the urge to vomit.

So little time had passed from the moment Jim and Spock were beamed up that any forward distance they had gained away from Vulcan was lost as the minutes flew. Jim was beginning to wonder where, exactly, Spock had disappeared to when they locked into orbit above Vulcan. Relief flooded through Jim and he was getting ready to head down to the transporter when the lift doors pinged open.

Not only did Tena step out, he had one hand clamped around Spock's shoulder, and the steadily growing patch of green on the bandages showed that he knew precisely what the wound was. He grinned darkly at Jim and raised his other hand in a mock salute, bringing the butt of the phaser sharply across Spock's skull.

Jim leapt to his feet and almost charged, but a warning glare stopped him in his tracks.

"Clever trick, boy," Tena said, sneering. "How unfortunate I must seem, to arrive at such a time."

"Let Spock go," Jim growled. "You're after me, right? Stop fucking threatening him!"

A half-smirk slid onto his face and he gave a dainty shrug. "Why would I do that when he makes you so... compliant?"

Jim could only clench his fists and stand, silent and tense. Blood dripped off his knuckles and pooled near his feet.

Metallic flashes sparked around Spock, and as the motes danced around him, he reached out for Jim. Before the young teen could bound across the bridge that separated them, Spock was gone, transported down to the surface. Tena realized what had just happened and, in the blink of an eye, had sank his fist into Jim's stomach, sending him careening into the viewscreen, which nearly cracked under the strain.

Jim was wheezing pitifully, trying to draw in air, but as the light bounced around him, Tena darted forward and wrapped a hand around his throat. The transporter couldn't get a lock on him and the motes fizzled out.

Jim's hands curled into rigid claws as he swiped at Tena's hand, but what little blood he drew served only to anger his captor. He was bodily dragged down and around the bridge, Tena being intelligent enough to understand that keeping Jim moving kept him there.

"You shot me," Tena growled as he slammed Jim into a console, squeezing so hard Jim blacked out for a moment. Sparks flared around Jim and Tena prepared to throw him until a pained expression crossed his face and he fell limp.

McCoy smiled grimly at Jim, letting the iron bar fall from his hands. The teen beckoned him to come over wordlessly, bending over as he fought to inhale. As McCoy knelt down to check what was wrong, clasping Jim on the arm, he was acutely aware that he was being shredded and thrown across space-time. It was not a pleasant sensation, and as soon as the unbalanced pair toppled from the transporter McCoy stumbled away to relieve his mostly empty stomach.

Wiping his mouth, he turned back to a familiar scene: Spock and Jim getting scolded. It seemed so... normal, compared to the last few hellish hours that McCoy threatened to burst out laughing. He stepped forward, catching Amanda's eye, fighting to keep the blush off his face. _She's awfully pretty... No! Remember Katie... Nice girl, talk to her when I get here on Vulcan... yeah..._

"I see you've managed to rescue our boys again," she said warmly, clasping his hands in her own.

"No trouble, ma'am," McCoy said politely. "Least I could do after what y'all did for me."

"Unfortunately, I must say that you won't be seeing much of them." She leveled a sharp glare in their direction as they were being picked over by medics. Jim shot an apologetic grin her way, his blue eyes positively cherubic. Spock blinked at her, mouthing something at him in a low voice which caused him to crack up and then gasp in pain as his fractured ribs were jostled.

"That's okay, I was actually heading here on a new program scholarship," McCoy said evenly. "As often as they get injured, they might be seeing me a lot."

Amanda smiled, but her brows were quirked. Then the ideas clicked and she swept him into a hug.

"Considering that you've helped them twice, I'd say that it's a comfort, knowing you can take care of them." She pulled back, her eyes glowing. Truly a mother, McCoy reflected. "Hopefully the doctors won't be too hard on you," she whispered conspiratorially. "They don't take well to slow learners. Vulcan thing."

"I was selected from my group as the one with the most potential," McCoy said proudly, puffing out his chest a bit. "I'll be fine."

"Ok, but I'm asking that you learn under my personal physician," Amanda insisted, and indicated the doctor currently engaging in the sport known as Trying To Help Jim Heal. "She's a little more patient because of me, I like to think."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, nodding.

"I think you should come over for dinner," Amanda said after a beat of silence. Momentarily distracted by the sheer sleekness of the transportation center, he asked her to repeat the question. She obliged and he ran a hand through his hair, cheeks darkening.

"Ma'am, I really you appreciate paying for my education and all, but I would hate to intrude-"

"Nonsense!" she said jovially and sent a wink towards her children. "It's our way of saying thanks. And you can fill me in on anything the boys don't want to tell me."

Startled, he was left spluttering. Finally, though, he accepted, and was ushered over to begin his first lesson in medicine under a Vulcan: trying to wrap the ribs of an over-excited and boasting fourteen year old. Somehow, though, he wouldn't have it any other way.

---

**Notes:** Um... happy birthday?

Thanks for reviewing! And everything else! I don't own it!

-please don't injure me for that rather anti-climactic ending...-


	12. twelve

One of the things that had been hard to master upon being accepted into Spock's family, Jim reflected, was the delicate art of eating. While a logic-devoted race, they also stressed that at least one meal was to be eaten with the family, barring extenuating circumstances, such as Sarek's ambassadorial duties and Amanda's duty to her husband. Eating was so different than on Terra. For one thing, they never used their hands for anything. The one time Jim had reached for a roll without using his silverware, Sarek had politely informed him that he would be spending the evening in his room.

Amanda, on the other hand, had actually bothered to inform him of the no finger-food rule, and Jim had never made that same mistake again.

Another thing was the vegetarianism. No meat. It had gotten on his nerves in the beginning, but day after day of the bland soups and greens had erased the taste of a medium-rare steak dripping its bloody juices. His doctor explained that, after such a long period without meat, if he tried to eat it again all of the sudden, there could be serious repercussions, in the form of over-exerting his digestive system, meaning even more time in the hospital.

That night, watching McCoy flounder under Sarek's flaying gaze, Jim had to stifle a laugh. _Is that how I looked, that first night?_

"So," Amanda said conversationally, dissecting her vegetables with expert care. "How did you end up rescuing our boys, Dr. McCoy?"

"Please, call me Leonard," McCoy said, color rising to his cheeks. Jim choked on his soup, nearly spraying it down the table. Spock sent him a side-long glance, and he coughed a bit to hide his own embarrassment. "And I wouldn't say I rescued them, exactly..."

"Well then, Leonard. How on earth did you help them?" She lifted her eyebrow and the corners of her mouth tugged upwards. "Again, I suppose would be the proper way to phrase it."

"Ah, it was nothin'. Jim's plan, truth be told," McCoy said, raising a spoonful of the broth and gulping it down. He grimaced, but made a valiant effort to appear satisfied. "The program I'd entered, a study abroad of sorts, didn't cover transport, so I scraped together enough to get a ride. Tena, the Romulan captain, had Vulcan as a clear destination, so it made sense to board. When he put the whole thing on lock-down, though, I knew somethin' was up."

Sarek nodded. "A logical conclusion."

"I was hanging in the bunks when Cap burst in all of the sudden." He rolled his eyes. "No one bothered to inform me that he'd kidnapped them, so I was lucky enough to deal with them while Jim had a hormonal hissy fit and Spock tried not to kill him, not that that ended well. I was dragged down to Sickbay, told to take over for the doctor whose body I had to dispose of, and then lo and behold, who comes tumbling out of the maintenance tubes? Why, your two teens here.

"Spock was out, so I patched him up as best I could, and made sure Jim wasn't emotionally scarred by whatever had happened. It took a minute, but Spock woke back up, and Tena showed up, knocked me around a bit, and we-" he nodded to the youngest at the table "-came up with the plan to make Jim seem like he was dead to throw Cap off his game. I got knocked around some more, we stranded the ship in orbit, and before I knew what was happening, my atoms were being ripped apart and scattered across space." He gave a minuscule shudder and sighed heavily.

Sarek and Amanda conversed briefly in low tones, quiet enough that Jim couldn't hear. He settled for shrugging and reaching with his fork to snag a biscuit. At the same time, Spock did so as well.

Their hands intercepted for the barest moment, Jim's fingertips grazing Spock's knuckles and stinging him slightly. The contact was enough to halt the adult's talk as Sarek looked on in shocked and affronted silence.

Jim speared the roll and stuffed it in his mouth, completely ignorant of what he had just done. Finally, though, he noticed the awkward silence and Spock's dark green ears and said, "What? Is it something on my face?"

Sarek opened his mouth to scold Jim for his inappropriate behavior when Amanda's gentle fingers pressed against his own, effectively silencing him for the moment. He caught her eye and she shook her head minutely; though a mental promise was made to talk about it later. For now, though, the answer remained elusive and Jim's question was left alone.

Jim had felt the shock, like a spark of static between their hands, and something in his mind had twinged as well. He chalked it up to a headache and let it go, instead opting for the classic maneuver of yawning loudly and requesting the solace of sleep.

"You have had a rather... trying afternoon, I imagine," Amanda said warmly, and nodded her approval, watching the young teen carefully take his dishes to the sink and rinse them off before heading up to the room he shared with Spock. "You might as well go too, dear," she said, facing her son.

"I do not require the amounts of rest Jim does," the half-Vulcan said stiffly. "I will meditate instead."

He left the room, leaving the dinner to McCoy and Spock's parents, who studied him intently.

"Please elaborate the circumstances of Spock's 'not that that ended well' and the nature of his injury," Sarek said in a soft, yet firm tone. McCoy unconsciously straightened and tightened his grip around the spoon.

"Jim was convinced that the actual abducting could have been handled by him, and that he doesn't always need to be rescued by Spock. Masculine pride coming to bite him in the-" He bit off the end of the sentence before the expletive could cross his lips. He cursed often, but he didn't know how Sarek and Amanda would react. He shook his head and continued on, running a hand through his hair to gather his thoughts. "Spock got a bit angry and choked him."

Amanda pressed her fingers to her lips, stifling a gasp. "He has had... issues with his anger in the past, but I thought...?"

"I will speak with him," Sarek murmured. "Please continue."

Before he could stop himself, McCoy scowled darkly and snapped, "Would it kill you to show some concern for your kids?"

"Leonard," Amanda said gently, "I don't know if you know about Vulcans, but they have forsaken emotion completely-"

"Of course I know that, you think I've never picked up a PADD before?"

Amanda frowned, a crease forming in between her eyebrows. "Perhaps it's best that you just keep going."

Gritting his teeth, McCoy forced out, "Some kind of laceration, not sure where or when it happened. It missed the major vein in that area, but he was unconscious when I treated him. I gave him a hypo to boost the division of the blood cells and bandaged it. Your physicians made sure I didn't do it wrong, now didn't they?"

"Of course," Sarek said. "It would be undeserving of their title if they could not ascertain the health of my son." He delicately placed the utensil he had been holding on the cloth napkin and stood. "It has been an educational meeting, Leonard McCoy. I wish you well in your studies."

McCoy stood, throwing his spoon down in irritation and stalking to the front door where he slipped his shoes on and left, barely managing a nod in Amanda's direction before the door had slammed closed.

"That went rather well, I think," Amanda said after a moment. She folded her napkin and laid it on her plate, trailing her fingers over Sarek's knuckles in a manner that nearly mirrored what had taken place between Jim and Spock earlier. "It's been so long since we've entertained guests who actually showed when we were pissing them off." If the sudden descent into cursing had startled Sarek, he did not show it. If anything, his gaze became heated.

She stood, clasping his hand in hers and inclining her head at the sensation that resulted. "How human," Sarek chided. "Taking pride in an emotional response."

"I am human, love," she reminded him, and lifted her head to meet his lips with hers for a brief and chaste kiss. "Try to remember."

Sarek raised a brow, acknowledging the minor victory. "Of course," he murmured. "How foolish."

"Do you think the gesture was intentional?" Amanda asked, referring to the touch between her son and Jim. "He seemed a bit... confused, at the very least. Jim, I mean."

"His education has not covered that particular aspect of Vulcan biology. It was unintentional, I am quite sure."

"Should you talk to them, or would you rather I do it?"

"It is of little consequence," Sarek said. "Though, logically, you should. I expressed my concerns to James two years ago and there is evidence he has not taken my request seriously. You would appeal to him on an emotional level, and you are more connected to Spock than I."

Sighing, Amanda nodded and untangled herself from her husband's arms, sending him a lingering smile over her shoulder as she climbed up the stairs. She had a feeling that, this time, at least, it wasn't the fault of her children. Not that it made her worry any less, truthfully. She rapped her knuckles on the door and was rewarded soon with a sour, "Come in."

She stepped through, careful not to let the trailing fabric of her dress catch in the automatic sliding door, and settled herself on the edge of Spock's bed, watching with a curious tilt to her head as Spock peered at her from one half-opened eye. Jim lay on his bed across the room, breathing evenly, but awoke at once when Amanda cleared her throat to garner his attention.

"The stars are coming out, Spock, Jim," she said, smiling. "Do you remember that night we wished on a star, dear?"

Spock merely inclined his head to say, yes, he did.

"Do you think your wish came true?"

That made him blink in confusion. "Mother...?"

Amanda laughed lightly and inhaled the cool air flowing in from the open window. It tasted of wildness and desert sands scorched and cooled over millenia.

"So, how'd the talk with McCoy go?" Jim interrupted, gingerly sitting up. His ribs were still sore, though healing at an increased pace. The marvels of modern medicine.

"Good, good." Amanda nodded distractedly. "He told us about everything that happened." She leveled a sharp glare at her children and emphasized, "Everything."

Jim ducked his head, cheeks burning with shame. It wasn't like he'd shot Spock on purpose!

"I'm really sorry, ma'am!" Jim burst out, opening his hands and splaying them in a display of helplessness. "I didn't mean to, I was trying to create a distraction, and he almost died..."

"What?" Amanda said sharply, all her attention abruptly focused on Jim.

"I shot Spock with a phaser I stole," Jim said in a tiny voice.

She took a deep breath, prepared to lecture him until he was a quivering mess of apologetic flesh on his bed, but the horrified and ashamed look that tightened across his face stopped her in her tracks. It was affecting him harshly, knowing he did that to his friend. She let the air flow out of her lungs and rubbed her temple with one finger.

"That was not what I was referring to, though it certainly is enlightening," Amanda said with a tired smile. "I was more referring to your 'hormonal hissy fit' and Spock's choking of you?" The slight lilt at the end made it more a question than a statement. She waited, and was rewarded.

"I lost control of my emotions, reacting in an unfavorable way to outside stimuli."

At the same time, Jim mumbled, "It was mostly my fault... I insulted him..." There was a pause. "...and you..." he added in a whisper.

"Well, I think an apology to each other and a months worth of no fun should about do it, hmm?" Amanda said, and watched with aggravated cheer as they muttered 'I'm sorry' to each other. "Well, now that that's taken care of, Jim, is there any reason we should worry about why this Tena is after you?"

Jim shrugged and rolled his eyes, saying, "No, but I did kill his brother when I was ten. Total accident, really, but other than that, no." He stopped, thoughtful. "There was this guy he commed, Nero, who said something about me living with him...?" He chewed briefly on his lower lip and ran a hand through his hair anxiously.

"I will alert Starfleet, and I am confident they will do something about this being," Amanda promised. "Spock, how is your shoulder?"

"Healing at an accelerated pace due to the ministrations of my physician, Mother," Spock reported at once. "Your concern is noteworthy but unnecessary."

"Of course." Amanda stood, brushed a wrinkle out of her dress, and pressed a gentle kiss into Spock's hair, blowing Jim a kiss and leaving the door shut behind her, shutting off the light as she left.

Jim let out a breath in a hiss and flopped back onto the bed. "Well, that interrogation was fun," he said sarcastically.

"Not exactly," Spock countered as he slid fluidly to his feet and rearranged himself on the bed. "Though I must admit, your guilt was particularly strong. Perhaps you are exaggerating to remain within Mother's favor?"

Jim shifted a bit, stifling a gasp as his broken ribs made their displeasure known loudly and irritably. "Well," he hedged, "I was guilty that I shot you, and I felt bad that I insulted Amanda and you. So, no, not really."

One upswung eyebrow lifted for a brief moment before dropping, and Spock's dark eyes sought out the hard lines of Jim in the dark. True, he had allowed his anger to reign in that instant, but he felt that 'guilt' as well. It was not an intention of his to injure Jim, or to use his superior physical strength to intimidate Jim into submission. He sought to resolve the feeling, if only to ease the emotional burden he certainly didn't carry.

"I do apologize, Jim," Spock said after a moment, and by the hitch in Jim's breathing, he knew the human had heard and understood.

"Me too, Spock," Jim replied, his voice already dulled by fatigue and sleep. "G'night," he mumbled.

"Pleasant rest."

Silence.

"Hey, Spock."

Spock shifted his hands so they lay at his side and not clasped over his breastbone. "Yes, Jim?"

"Why did your parents get freaked out when I brushed your hand?"

"On Vulcan, the hands, more specifically the fingers, are used in what you humans call the ritual of 'kissing'."

Jim shot straight up, a choking sound escaping from his throat. In the dark, Spock could make out the shocked expression on his face and a strange feeling erupted in his stomach. "I kissed you?!"

"Not precisely, no. I would equate it too... as you would say... 'a peck on the cheek'?"

More silence.

"Did you like it?"

"I no longer wish to discuss the matter."

"...jackass."

* * *

**One Year Later**

**Spock - 16 Jim - 15**

The morning was nothing special. A time when the sun rose, making the temperatures uncomfortably hot; when Jim was forced to get up from the comfort of his bed to go to school, though he had skipped the day before. Or, like today, a time for certain parts of a growing teens' anatomy to make its presence known in an... unusual way.

Jim awoke to a feeling in his lower regions that was not the usual full bladder he had. Instead of lying until Amanda came to get him up, he tried to awkwardly roll over and only succeeded in falling off the bed into an ungraceful heap.

He let out a little groan and managed to stand; Spock chose that moment to stroll out of the bathroom, looking pristine and mature and for all the world like puberty had quite conveniently chosen to pass him by. Jim squared his shoulders away and tried to stagger to the 'fresher. One look at Jim's hunched over condition and that was all it took to garner Spock's interest.

"Are you ill, Jim?" The concern was so barely there Jim could have imagined its presence.

"No, no," Jim said, waving Spock off. "I'm fine, don't get your undies in a twist."

Spock tilted his head briefly and quirked a brow. "If you are fine, then why are you not walking upright?" He took a step closer and watched Jim shuffle back. The worry that bubbled below the surface sprang to the forefront. If Jim was injured again...

"It's none of your business!" Jim snapped.

That just about did it for Spock, who, in two long strides, managed to arrive at Jim's side. He flung out one arm and tugged Jim around so they were facing. His eyes slid from Jim's to his crotch, and the abrupt tenseness melted away to reveal the scientist within.

"Ah. Nocturnal penile tumescence." His head dipped for a moment and he pointed his chin at the bathroom. "I would suggest emptying your bladder and taking a cold shower. Rest assured, Jim, it is a perfectly normal and natural occurrence for maturing males."

Jim's jaw dropped. The feeling he'd experienced had not been entirely unfamiliar; there was a particularly attractive Vulcan girl in his level that caused him the same amounts of butterflies, but never the... thing. With his privates. Jim could practically feel the blood burning in his cheeks. "I take it you've dealt with this before?" he said in a light voice.

Spock nodded, and before Jim could ask his next question, he replied with a smart, "And the reason you did not know until now is because you insist in resting beyond the required eight hours, and I wake up earlier than you do." There was a distinct flavor of smugness to his tone and Jim felt a strong urge to smack his friend.

Unwilling to face the indignity of being teased by Spock, though the half-Vulcan would never have called him that and if Jim dared to say that to his face, he would have less of himself to account for, Jim scuttled off to the bathroom. His task accomplished for the moment, Spock left the room to talk with his father. Normally, had he been wanting for advice, he would have sought out his mother, but due to the nature of the queries, the familiarity of gender had to be addressed.

"Father." Spock allowed a minuscule amount of pride to flare in his chest before he smothered it. His voice was calm and even, perfectly emotionless.

"Son." Sarek inclined his head at Spock and folded his hands in his lap, the picture of unconcerned logic. "Is there some reason you wish to speak with me?"

"Jim experienced a physical manifestation of puberty and felt embarrassment," Spock reported. "I am uncertain what course of action to pursue."

Sarek thought for a moment, his eyebrow disappearing into his hairline as he pondered the latest twist in the raising of his children. "Perhaps it would be prudent to discuss the acts of sexual intercourse with Dr. McCoy. It is time for your physical, if I recall the day correctly." The human had proved himself to be quite trustworthy, and something of a diamond in the rough. He absorbed medical knowledge the way Spock controlled his emotions: quickly and effectively. While Sarek would have preferred the Vulcan physician to administer the lecture, he understood that teenagers bonded over such things like that and his son might resent Jim for getting a different version.

The muscles along Spock's jaw tightened and he gave a miniscule shake of his head. "I assure you, Father, I am in perfect health and all biology covered in my education has left no items of curiosity to pursue." He grasped his wrist with the other hand behind his back and settled into a posture meant to display respect to the one they were conversing with. Sarek took note and nodded once in acknowledgement.

"True, but Jim does not, and it is time for your mandatory examination." Sarek stood, turning toward the door, and glanced over his shoulder. "I will send word to your instructors to expect you to be tardy for class today." Before Spock could stop him, Sarek had disappeared outside, presumably to walk to the school while Jim got his things together. Now that no one was around to watch him, Spock let out a little impatient hiss.

Jim hopped off the last step and gave him a bright smile, though even Spock could tell there was a slight air of awkwardness hanging around the younger teen. He'd grown a few inches, though he still wasn't as tall as Spock, and he allowed his dirty blond hair to fall around his face in an ungraceful mop, completely juxtaposing the stern bowl cut Spock favored. If he'd been so inclined, Spock would have laughed. Here he was, half Vulcan, comparing himself to a human. Pointless.

"Father has requested that we complete our yearly physical examination today," Spock said as Jim munched through several pieces of toast. "He also wishes us to receive..." Spock hesitated, and decided to use a term Jim might be familiar with, one he'd found while exploring the holo archive as Jim skipped yesterday. "'the talk'?"

Jim's features shifted from one of simple enjoyment to one of confusion, then recognition, and finally what Spock could only call trepidation.

"Joy," the human muttered sarcastically, running one hand through his bed-rumpled hair and sighing heavily. "I remember that, back on Earth." His eyes took on a slightly misty look as he reminisced. "All the older students used to brag about how they'd just been given the talk, and how they knew how babies were made and weren't going to tell us." Jim shuddered. "They'd make up the most horrible stories... like how babies were born through the mom's noses..."

Spock could only blink. Jim believed such a thing...? "That is anatomically impossible," Spock objected. "Females pass the unborn children through the-"

"I don't need to know now!" Jim said quickly. "I already know the details, alright? Let's go get checked out by Dr. McCoy and go to school. I'm sure Instructor T'Pim is so pissed that I wasn't there and'll still know everything for today's lesson..." A devilish smirk flashed across his face and he cackled quietly, finishing the last of his breakfast in one mighty bite.

Spock was going to start in about knowing the material and responsibility but his soon-to-be lecture was interrupted by Sarek striding into the home, looking dignified and as if the pounding heat had no affect on him. Jim stood, tucking any complaints he might have voiced back into his throat, and followed behind, making faces at Sarek's back.

The dry heat of Vulcan still managed to knock the wind out of him, no matter how many times he'd passed in and out of the home through the years, Jim noticed as he inhaled deeply, wiping the sweat already beading on his forehead and cheeks onto his sleeve. Next to him, Spock shot him a disapproving look, but Jim ignored him and began whistling a toneless tune under his breath.

The hospital had not changed since the last time they'd been there; the waiting room was as impersonal as ever, the doctors as stiff and cold as ever, and Dr. McCoy was as argumentative and surly as ever as well. The man was leaning against the far wall, rubbing his temples and muttering under his breath. Next to him, Amanda's physician stood with her arms crossed and a look trained on McCoy.

Jim, Spock, and Sarek approached, and once the adult ascertained that his teenagers were not liable to run, bolt, cause mass havoc, or get kidnapped once again, he turned crisply on one heel and left them. Jim rolled his eyes but smiled brightly when McCoy opened his eyes and spotted him.

"Good to see ya, Dr. McCoy," Jim said warmly, clasping his hand briefly.

The Vulcan woman, instead of giving Jim a greeting and whisking Spock off to do the normal testing, simply nodded in the teen's direction, caught McCoy's eye, and said in a level voice, "Bones." Then she gestured for Spock to follow, without bothering to elaborate.

"Bones?"

McCoy sighed. "I have a test coming up, and she won't let me forget that the main portion's gonna be on the bones of several alien species, especially after I screwed up on the last one. Shouldn't have stayed up all night talking to Katie." He grimaced and pushed off the wall, leading Jim down the twisting expanse of the hallway and into his room. Jim stripped his clothes off obediently and sat through the examination with no small amounts of complaining, even when McCoy requested silence. And just when the dark-haired man thought it couldn't get any worse...

"Bones, bones, bones, bones..." Jim sing-songed, twitching his toes back and forth on the bunk. "Don't forget about yer bones! Bones! Don't forget, Bones!"

"Why must you insist on irritating me?" McCoy snarled, and jabbed the hypo into Jim's neck with a little more than the necessary amount of force normally required. Jim uttered a startled little yelp and jumped up, a hurt expression painting itself on his face as he looked over in mock-confusion.

Before Jim could retaliate, a firm knock reverberated through the little room. Jim quickly replaced the thin hospital gown with his normal clothes and arranged himself lazily on the bunk, appearing as if the physical hadn't bothered him one tiny bit, though he still hated how much it shattered his privacy, which had only grown in the closeted society of Vulcan. Spock walked in calmly and hopped up next to Jim, sitting stiller than Jim could ever hope to do, all attention focused on Dr. McCoy.

The physician that had administered his own examination raised a brow at his impatience and closed the door, effectively locking the two teens in with McCoy, who was already annoyed with Jim as it was. A malicious smirk slid onto his face and for the first time since almost a year ago with Tena, Jim felt a lick of fear shiver in his bones.

In the next hour that ensued, McCoy made sure to cover every possible physical position for sexual intercourse, including some that required above average flexibility. He made sure to discuss anal and oral intercourse in intimate detail, even going so far as to bring out medical holos to add a certain level of... reality to it. Finally, at the end, he concluded with every debilitating disease passed through sex and the various (and often horribly disfiguring or fatal) results.

"Alright! What have we learned ?"

Spock blinked, and, for the first time in his life, cursed his ability to remember nearly everything. "Sexual intercourse is... stimulating. Painful. It could potentially lead to death. But it is necessary for procreation, and the added responsibility of a child is why we should not undertake it until we have the financial and emotional security to support such a possibility."

Jim turned a pale shade of green and shrugged. "Sex feels nice, don't get infected, don't get the girl pregnant?"

McCoy stifled an evil laugh and clapped his hands together. "Good, good. You're all done here, get on to class."

Jim slid off the bunk and staggered out the door, Spock close on his tail. The two teens kept their gazes on the floor, to embarrassed to look one another in the eye after experiencing such a talk. When they met up with Sarek in the lobby, the older Vulcan looked at the them as if he could read their minds. Which, technically, he could, but that was beside the point, because it required a physical touch and neither teen was willing to risk getting sick on their father.

"Did the discussion go well?"

Jim traded a glance with Spock, blue eyes searching dark brown for an answer to his unspoken plea.

"Yes," they chorused, and for all the knowledge in the world, Sarek could not understand why they looked so pleased. Seeing no reason to waste any more time, Sarek ushered them to the door, completely missing the victorious smile Jim flashed at Spock and the slight upturn of the lips Spock returned.

Another awkward moment avoided, and another bond forged between them. Not even another sex talk by a vengeful Dr. McCoy could ruin the moment.

---

**Notes: **Silly people, of course I'm not done! That being said, thanks for reviewing and everything else and I don't own it and you know the drill by now, I assume? My writing time has been further eaten by that pesky thing called a college application. Bleck. Oh well; I want to be a doctor, dammit!

You said puberty awkwardness, I responded accordingly. Hoorah!

Leave a review! Tell me what you liked! Tell me what could be improved! Tell me what the best line in the chapter was! Tell me what you'd like to see more of! Pretty please!

Don't forget to salute your neighborhood Vulcan! Until next time! Peace!


	13. thirteen

**One Year Later**

**Spock - 17 Jim - 16**

Jim was beginning to think that something was honestly wrong with Spock.

Today, for the first time in the six years he'd been living here, it had started raining. Heavily. And Amanda had warned him not to go out, because there was something about the chemical contents that was potentially harmful to him and that was about when he'd stopped paying attention. So, as the two were confined to the house, Jim had decided to bother his friend.

And Spock had snapped at him.

_Spock _had _snapped_ at him. Spock never did that. He either saved the tone for his biting not-quite-sarcasm or, if he was that angry, swung to the other end of the spectrum and beat the living shit out of whoever was harassing him.

So now Jim was lying on his bed, sending poisonous glares in Spock's direction as his half-Vulcan friend meditated. Or, as was a better way to describe it, tried to. Every few moments, he'd make a low sound in the back of his throat, like a moan, or a muscle would twitch and he'd lose his focus and wriggle around to find a better position. It was beginning to concern Jim, even as it began to wear on his nerves.

"So," Jim drawled, and Spock's eyes whipped open and were full of a dark fire that startled the human teen. "I'm bored. What should we do?"

"I am occupied with meditation." The words were quiet and forced, as if Spock was clenching the sounds like he would a fist.

Jim snorted, and Spock drew back, startled. Rolling his eyes, Jim swung himself around so he was sitting on his bed, legs crossed and elbows resting on his knees. All his attention abruptly shifted to Spock and he murmured, "Are you alright? You've been acting a bit... off."

"I am in acceptable health. Your concern is unnecessary."

Jim had to laugh at that, because it was terribly obvious that something was up, and if Spock didn't want to talk, well, he'd just wheedle it out of the older teen. His charms didn't just extend to pretty visiting officers, after all.

"No, you're not." It wasn't meant to sound teasing, but by the way Spock's jaw tightened and his knuckles began to lose color, Jim supposed that was the way he took it. He cocked his head at an angle he knew Spock would recognize - it was one the half-Vulcan used often enough when studying something particularly fascinating - and shrugged. "Don't get angry, I'm just trying to make sure you're okay."

"I do not feel anger," Spock whispered in a low, ugly voice, and then he was an inch from Jim's face, his dark eyes locked on Jim's light ones, willing Jim to understand. He was Vulcan. He did not feel emotion.

Jim scooted backwards, sliding off the bed and unfolding his lanky limbs so he stood straight. Absentmindedly, he tucked his hands into his pockets and settled into a comfortable slouch, still looking at Spock, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Spock opened his mouth to back up his previous statement, paused, and with a slight widening of his eyes, dropped to the ground.

Jim stood in shocked silence until the situation slammed into reality and he dived to the floor, hurriedly feeling for a pulse - _that's too fast, even for him _- and peeling back the eyelid to see what was going on, as if he could peer into the depths of Spock's mind to see what was wrong. Blackness swallowed his iris and it remained looking far into the distance, perhaps seeing something lovely, perhaps witnessing something atrocious. Jim would never know.

He managed to slip his arms under Spock's neck and knees, lifting the slight teen with a grunt of exertion. Puffing heavily, quite sure he looked like a mess but not caring enough compared to Spock's sudden collapse, he managed to stagger down the steps and through the front door, not even bothering with his shoes or some form of protection.

The rain burned as it slid across his bare skin, but all of that pain was meaningless. Jim's walk evolved into a loping run and he made decent time to the hospital, the journey to which faded into a blur of hazy pain and burning concern. It didn't matter. Someone's life was at stake, he figured, because healthy people didn't go around dropping unconscious just for kicks.

When Jim arrived in the lobby, empty as it was, covered in chemical burns and carrying an unconscious half-Vulcan in his arms, the receptionist was of sound enough mind to call two people: Spock's physician and Dr. McCoy, the latter of which arrived first and thusly the first to upbraid Jim for his idiocy.

Leonard McCoy had been enjoying his time on Vulcan for the most part. There were bad days (when the pointy-eared bitch gave him grief for not remembering every detail of every scrap of medicine she tried to pump into his brain) and good days (when some patients actually looked at him with respect for doing his job and not like he was a trained circus monkey being toted around). Then, of course, there were Jim days.

Days when the only bad thing that he had to worry about was because of something Jim did, or Jim got into, or Jim felt was necessary to do. Like walking a few miles to a hospital carrying his friend while ignoring the increasingly violent chemical burns that were beginning to coat his face and arms.

Bones sighed and ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath and getting ready to tear Jim a new one when he caught sight of those blue eyes he often put to good use. Swimming in those soul windows were deep, deep worry, fear, and something he couldn't quite figure out.

"Sorry, Bones," Jim murmured, his eyes sliding shut as his body began to protest the abuse it'd been put through. "Amanda's not home, neither is Sarek... something's wrong with Spock..."

Bones managed to dash over in time to catch Jim before he fell, easing both bodies to the floor. Spock's physician chose that moment to appear, a smaller, delicate figure trailing behind.

"T'Pyn, T'Pring," he rasped in greeting, and heaved Jim onto one of the stretchers that the physician had thoughtfully brung in case they were needed. "As you can see, we've got a bit of a situation." Another grunt and forced exhalation, and Spock was up as well. "Thanks for helping," he muttered, and grabbed the handles to lead the floating beds to an actual room.

"My apologies," T'Pyn said. "I was allowing my daughter to examine some medicinal tools. She is unsure which field she wishes to pursue once she has graduated from school."

"Well, isn't that wonderful?" McCoy snarked, hooking a line to Spock and running a tricorder over the barely breathing body.

"What do the readings say?"

McCoy was baffled, to say the least. "All his bodily functions are completely normal. Normal for him, at least, but normal nonetheless." His head tilted to the side and he put one hand under his chin, grabbing his elbow with the other. "He should be awake."

"If it is what I suspect it is, he has gone into a healing trance. It is a Vulcan method of healing, used before medicine became standard." T'Pyn nodded slowly, and lifted an eyelid, examining the eye itself. After a moment in which Bones tried to figure out what was going on, she nodded again and said, "_G'han'ju'ma_."

"Ga-han-chew-what?"

"It is rare. Very rare. I believed it to be wiped out. Quite intriguing, actually. It normally shows up earlier, though with no symptoms." She locked eyes with him. "It is not a physical abnormality, but a mental one." At McCoy's blank look, she adopted her patient 'humans are idiots but oh well' tone and elaborated.

"Vulcans have ordered minds, as you know, and are in control of every bodily function. In the mental plane, we have organized our minds into something we are most familiar with, something to help us keep order and allow us privacy if we wish it. Something in Spock's mental plane seems to have been... upset, destabilized. He has retreated into his mind, and will not come out until the instability has been corrected."

"What happens if he can't fix it?"

Surprisingly enough, T'Pring answered that question. "He will never come out. He will remain in the healing state until his energy fades. Then he will die."

McCoy's eyes narrowed and he managed to force out, "You certainly don't sound very concerned."

T'Pring fixed her gaze on Bones and said in a level voice, "Death is constant. I have accepted the fact. Though Spock is my bondmate, if he perishes, I have others to link with."

T'Pyn glanced at her daughter sharply. McCoy had to fight the urge to grin. Even on Vulcan, it seemed that dating behind your parent's back wasn't absent.

"Maybe I could help...?"

McCoy twisted around and he locked eyes with Jim, who, already, was struggling to sit up, despite how much his red and raw skin must have been irritating him. Fire burned behind his eyes and McCoy sighed heavily. He knew that look. That was the look of someone willing to do anything for a friend. Even if it meant hurting themselves in the process.

"And if I say no?" Bones said gruffly. "If I say you should lay down and _rest_?" The stress he placed on the last word was not missed by anyone conscious in the room, save, of course, Jim, who just grinned and replied,

"You'll have to tie me down, then, because Spock's not gonna rescue himself, now is he?" T'Pring looked very ready to pipe up to the contrary, but a steady hand on her shoulder warned her not to interfere with the humans. If the youngest insisted in venturing into Spock's mind, he would be lucky to come back with his own mental capacities.

Human and Vulcan minds were very different. There was always a possibility that Jim could become entranced by what was in Spock's mind, and fail to return to his own body when the process was completed, as was expected - in the few notable exceptions to the grand rule of No One Helps the Injured Vulcan, getting out had proven to be easier then getting in, not requiring a connection or a link person.

"At least let me put some burn cream on. You shouldn't have gone out in the rain. Didn't anyone think to warn you about that? Vulcans..." he muttered, trailing off into indescipherable insults as he smeared the white cream on Jim's face and arms. When he was finished, Jim hopped off the stretcher and walked over to Spock's side, confidence etched into every line in his body.

He was Jim fucking Kirk. He'd faced wild animals and insane aliens. How hard could this be?

"If you insist on risking your life and sanity," T'Pyn said dryly, "then I shall be the link."

She stepped gracefully forward, fastening one hand on Spock's face and holding her long fingers centimeters off Jim's. "Do you submit?"

Jim nodded once, and her fingers locked onto his face, each pad finding one specific point, and once she had found the proper places, she chanted in a low, soft voice, "His mind, through my mind, to his mind. They are connected. I am a container. Let his mind pass through." Her jaw tightened for a fraction of a second, then Jim slumped to the floor.

McCoy raised one eyebrow and gestured to Jim. "I picked him up last time," he said imperiously, and crossed his arms over his chest. "A container?"

"I allowed Jim's mind to flow through me, so he could connect with Spock." She settled Jim back onto the floating stretcher and positioned it so Jim and Spock were lying next to each other, bobbing slightly. "It is a talent only few have. Most mind melds can only be accomplished with two willing components." T'Pyn released a heavy breath and nearly collapsed into a waiting chair.

McCoy's stern demeanor softened the tiniest bit. "Is it difficult?"

"Taxing, but my strength will recover."

Bones fixed his gaze on Jim, who lay limp on the stretcher, face contorted into a mask of concentration and determination.

"Brat," McCoy said fondly, startling T'Pring, who looked at him quizzically from Spock's side. "Once he gets out of there, I'm going to kick his ass. After tying him down."

* * *

The first sensation Jim felt was heat. It wasn't the all-encompassing heat of Vulcan, probably just a bit cooler, but there was the crisp smell he'd come to associate with sand, and there was a minute sting from the wind as it blew particles of rock through his pants. His eyes opened slowly.

He stood in the entrance of a cave that stirred memories within him, memories of pain and weariness and a man he couldn't quite remember the face of but somehow knew he was important. After a moment, Jim snapped his fingers - the sound of which echoed down into the inky depths - and murmured, "The cave. Of course. That night, after I'd just come. With the rash."

Taking a deep breath, steadying his nerves, Jim stepped inside. The air around him shimmered and it suddenly became a hallway, barren of any decorations save for the single door at the end.

"What the hell?" he whispered. Almost before he could stop himself, one hand reached up and brushed down the wall. It felt real enough; solid and whole beneath his fingertips. Jim reminded himself it was Spock's mind, and he could decorate however he wanted to. The thought didn't stop a shiver from running down his spine, however.

"Who are you?"

Jim leaped back, already crouched and ready for a fight. But instead of something evil - which he'd assumed there would be in Spock's mind, because why else would he randomly get knocked out? - it was a small boy, not more than six or seven. The child blinked and cocked his head and Jim's mouth dropped. That was the exact same way... but... how?

"Why are you here? This place is private." Little Spock's face twisted into a harsh frown. "Mother says to respect privacy. You should leave."

"Yeah, no," Jim said, straightening and glancing around. No one was in the dark hall save for them, and the door at the end was now cracked open, light spilling out. Shadows writhed, making images dance on the walls. "I'm looking for Spock. He's about my age, though, no offense."

The little Spock crossed his arms and scowled darkly. "Get out." It was so unlike how the old Spock talked that Jim was actually taken by surprise. "I will not hesitate to take defensive action." And in a blur of pale skin and black robes the young boy had sprinted forward and planted a punch in Jim's gut. The teen bent double, gasping as he tried to draw in air.

"Have you come to make fun of me?" Little Spock demanded. Fury burned in his eyes. "Come to pick on the half human?" Jim managed to duck the punch that was aimed for his eye and tucked himself into a backwards roll, coming up a good distance away.

"What is wrong with you?!" Jim snarled, panting slightly. "You're never this pissed at anything!"

"How could I get angry?" Little Spock advanced a step. "I'm a Vulcan. I'm not _supposed_ to." There was sarcasm and bitterness dripping off every word. "I'm sure Father would be disappointed if he knew how much I _felt_."

Jim glanced back and forth. He knew Spock got angry... he'd been the instigator several times, in fact, so he was no stranger to Spock's rage. But to see it so... concentrated really threw him for a loop. Add to the fact he was a child, and Jim hadn't been a child since the day he'd been attacked in the dead of night and found himself both a killer and an orphan, so he was unsure how to handle one, especially one as unique as Spock.

"Listen," Jim said honestly, and he winced as the bruise on his stomach throbbed. "I'm not here to tease you, and I'm not here to pick on you, or degrade your failures. I'm looking for a Spock that's my age. Like, seventeen. Something is wrong, and I'm trying to help him."

Little Spock glared at him with heavy suspicion foaming in his nearly black eyes. Finally, after a moment pregnant with tension, the small boy bowed his head and shifted to the side.

"Not many people would forgive me of anger," Little Spock murmured, his chin tucked into his chest. "I suppose you can go on. I'm not sure where the imbalance is, but it's upsetting the stability of the world." Jim nodded, taking large strides, pausing only briefly to ruffle Spock's hair and wink as he passed.

The hall stretched on and it seemed like Jim had been walking for hours before the door approached. It was heavy and covered in whorls that, after a moment, sparked a memory of a passage in Vulcan that he couldn't translate because he'd been thinking about going outside and playing rather than remembering a poem by a stuffy old ass.

He splayed one hand on the wood and gave a hard push; around him, the air shimmered and sparked, and began to glitter in a way Jim remembered clearly. Around him space began to expand, turning the little inset into a cavern that soared overhead, crystals the size of the famous redwoods on Terra plunging down to nearly scrape the ground. Light shifted and bent, throwing reds and greens and purples and blues onto the walls, and Jim gazed in wonder.

The burial grounds of I-Chaya, in this manner, seemed even more magnificent than when Spock had first shown it to him. And, if his suspicions were correct, the faint sobbing that lilted around was going to lead him to another... interesting experience.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

Jim crept up behind the child, who had pale hands tangled in his hair.

"Have you seen a teenager Spock around here?" Jim said suddenly.

The slightly-older-but-not-right Spock turned and Jim drew back. Tears streamed thickly down his face and his nose was cherry red.

"W-what?" Little-ish Spock sniffled, swiping self-consciously at his eyes. He unfolded himself to his full height, coming up to about Jim's bellybutton. He tried and failed to look intimidating and as the realization settled in, two fat tears trickled down his face.

"It's okay," Jim said patiently and knelt down next to Little-ish Spock, putting his hand on the thin shoulders. They trembled beneath his fingers and he drew back, grinning sheepishly. "I don't mind that you cry. It's okay, really. Have you seen Spock?"

Little-ish Spock's eyes shone and his head dropped, shaking slowly from side to side. "It's not just that," he whispered. "I'm sadness, true, but there's guilt as well. There are so many things I've done wrong..."

"Like what?" Jim tilted his chin up so their eyes met.

"I hurt you!" he wailed. "I hurt you! And I killed I-Chaya because I was foolish! I've hurt other boys, the bullies! I don't mean to! Other Vulcans can control their anger, but I can't, and I hurt people! I'm sorry!"

Jim sighed, but understood. Spock could injure people easily. He was stronger than Jim, and showed it often. But normally he had such good control over his emotions, so it must really bother him when he lost that control. It threw several occurrences Jim remembered into a startling new light, like how Spock clammed up after snapping or how Spock would try justify his self-punishment (usually in the form of skipping meals and meditating until he calmed down) to Jim.

"You can hurt me, and you can hurt a lot of people, but that's why you need to think instead of act," Jim said softly. A smile tugged one corner of his mouth up, and he lightly punched Little-ish Spock's chin, dragging his head to the side and producing a watery grin.

"Okay," he whispered and wiped his cheeks. "Okay. I can try that. Okay."

"Awesome!" Jim stood, patted Little-ish Spock's shoulder, and proceeded to pick his way through the crystals, satisfied that he'd managed to comfort another product of Spock's mind. The thought crossed through him that he shouldn't meddle, shouldn't screw around with his best friend's head, but then he tried to imagine what would happen if Spock never came out of this coma.

He didn't want to imagine it. It seemed cold and lonely. Bones was a good friend, but not in the same way as Spock.

"Be careful!" Little-ish Spock called. "The imbalance is dangerous!"

Jim acknowledged the warning with a wave, not even bothering to turn around. The ground grew fuzzy for a sharp instant and Jim floundered, arms twirling around as his feet sought purchase. The crystals solidified once more, one harsh, pointed end coming close to impaling Jim's foot. Letting out a hissed breath, he edged along, wary.

It took some careful maneuvering, but Jim managed to shimmy up the solidified mineral constructs to reach the crack in the ceiling that oozed warmth and comfort. Jim reached out with one hand, fingers stretched, inching towards the light. Around him, the cavern wavered and blackness reigned for a split second.

Jim squeezed his eyes shut, only daring to open them when the ground returned beneath his feet, hard like packed earth. The sharp scent of flowers and water assaulted his nose and he cracked open one eye, practically relaxing when the sight of their spring sprang into being.

Jim rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. He'd gotten the pattern: face the Spock, assure the emotion, move on. Whatever imbalance they were talking about, he'd find it and fix it. He could do this.

Now, to find this Spock...

A raucous giggle sounded from behind and suddenly Jim was tumbling forward, a heavy weight having attached itself to his back. He rolled with the blow and sprang to his feet, plans and thoughts racing through his mind. Anger and pain, sadness and guilt... what was next?

"Hey!" a bright voice chirped, and Jim managed to wrestle the body off of him, whirling around so he was kneeling in the dirt, face-to-face with a Spock he estimated to be a teenager, but still not the right one. "Oh, hiya, Jim!"

"Spock?" Jim's voice was ripe with confusion.

"That's my name, don't forget!" Spock laughed again and his eyes were bright with mirth. An unfamiliar grin stretched across his face and he hopped back, clapping his hands together. "What're you doing here?"

"I'm looking for Spock," Jim said, standing and brushing dust off his pants. "Seventeen year old Spock, at least. Something about an imbalance?"

Early-teen Spock's face brightened and he nodded furiously in understanding. "Oh, that. Yeah, he's around here somewhere." He flapped a hand lazily. "Doesn't matter. Why don't you sit? We can talk about all kinds of fun things!" He took a step forward, tilting his head up and whispering in a secretive tone, "It's usually my favorite part of the day. I like your stories from Earth best of all!"

He folded his legs under him and arranged it so his chin was resting on his fist, a look of pure rapture replacing the humor. Jim drew back, uncertain.

The other Spocks were uncomfortable with themselves, meaning Spock was uncomfortable with what they represented. But this... happy, cheerful Spock didn't seem to be uncomfortable at all. If anything, he seemed to be the best-accepted emotion of them all, but that made no sense... did it?

"Come on, come on!" Early-teen Spock wiggled impatiently, running a hand through his hair in a gesture he'd picked up from Jim. "Tell me about your school. It's so different! It must be nice, not having to work so hard."

"Kind of," Jim murmured. His school days weren't fond memories, far from it, but when was school pleasant? He ignored the traitorous thought of _here, with Spock_ and shrugged, settling down and throwing his legs out. "It got boring fast, though. Nothing new to learn, got picked on when I actually tried." He shrugged.

"That's okay." Early-teen Spock gave him a comforting smile that sent a little shiver down Jim's spine. The look on his face was unfamiliar, no matter where he tried to place it. "I've been picked on too. You've met Anger and Sadness, I presume?"

Jim nodded.

"I'm Happiness. But, really, duh." The half-Vulcan winked. "As if that wasn't totally obvious."

"Why are you here? Is this the way all minds are structured?" Jim's eyebrows rose for a moment and Spock laughed.

"Of course not! We're special. No one else is like this." Spock tilted his head and the smile faded a little. "Why did you come? Didn't you trust us to fix our own mind?"

Jim shifted nervously and waved his hand in a manner that resembled someone shooing away a fly. "Of course," Jim muttered, ducking his head. "But..."

"Spock's saved you loads of times. You wanted to return the favor, so you jumped in without a thought for what you could do. It's in your nature." Spock nodded reassuringly. "It's alright. I know that now. At first, I didn't exist, at least not until you came. I'm a bit glad, truth be told, but Spock doesn't like to admit I'm here."

"I know, I know," Jim growled, clenching his fists. "He's my best friend, what else was I going to do? Sit around and wait for him to die? Especially after what that little Vulcan chick told me?"

"You should've-" Early-teen Spock cut his own sentence off and bit out a gasp. His eyes widened and he chewed nervously on his lower lip.

"Something wrong?"

"They want to see you," Early-teen Spock whispered. "You shouldn't be bad. They don't like that."

"Who's they?"

Jim's question went unanswered as the latest Spock shot to his feet and scurried off, disappearing out of sight in an instant. Jim stood, looking around, on edge. Maybe this 'they' was what he was looking for.

A rumble speared through the spring, followed sharply by another, more powerful quake. The world seemed to shrug, determined to throw Jim off, but it failed, because Jim had crouched under the rock he usually sat under to protect his skin from the harsh Vulcan sun. A third shake rattled everything and the spring boiled over, white foam frothing over the edges and drowning the delicate flowers.

After an agonizing moment in which Jim was sure the very teeth were about to fall out of his head, Jim crawled out from under the rock, glancing back and forth. He turned, making sure that the rock walls hadn't been damaged, and when he heard a cough, he whirled around.

Two teenagers stood behind the spring. One was slouching, his dark brown eyes offset by his sandy hair. His ears were round as well, Jim noted. The teen next to him stood as if someone had replaced his spine with an iron rod, his inscrutable black eyes boring into Jim's. Sharply pointed ears poked through the dark hair cut in the immaculate Vulcan way.

"Spock?" Jim asked.

"Yes," they chorused, and the human grinned. Jim stifled a sigh.

This was going to be harder than he thought, obviously.

---

**Notes:**

Yes, another chapter out for you all. Obviously I'm taking a few creative liberties, so... yeah. Hope you like where it's turning out, and I've got some fun things in store so that this turns out interesting.

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! Whoa, we've broken 310! And over one hundred favorites! Wow! You guys are the best. I love you all. Seriously.

If anyone wants to draw anything, feel free. -sheepish grin- I have no artistic talents whatsoever. That's why I write. But don't think I'm asking, because... I'm not, not really. How do I say this without sounding arrogant or like a dumbass?

Well, see you next time. Peace.


	14. fourteen

Jim glanced back and forth between the two, eyes narrowed, confusion and righteous anger warring within him and making his chest burn. Yes, there were two of them, neither of which was the Spock he was looking for, and how dare they do something to hurt Spock? He was going to be having words with someone very shortly, and it was in their best interest not to make him any more pissed off than he already was. Instead of stomping forward and demanding they let Spock go, he took a deep breath and spoke.

"Give me Spock back before I have to hurt someone," he said in a low, dangerous voice. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted his long hair waving lazily around his head in a corona of blond. He disregarded it as unimportant, even if it was attached to his scalp and suddenly was acting like it had a mind of its own.

"That is not possible." The answer grated in Jim's ears and seemed to sit in front of him, mocking him in cold letters. He wrinkled his nose, taking a precarious step forward, minding his step (as the spring was in much disrepair with the general mayhem the Spock's entrance had caused) and about to kick some ass when the human Spock lifted his hand, fingers splayed and pointed at Jim. He halted and tensed, body vibrating as he fought not to spring.

"Relax, will you?" Human Spock said with a half-smile and a playful shrug. "S'not like I'm gonna punch you or anything." He twisted his hand so it rotated in a circle, ending with the palm facing up. Around Jim, the spring faded, the sand and water swirling into nothingness so all that remained was deep blackness that not even space could compare to, so unfamiliar and sterile. From within himself came a dull glow; he could see the Spocks just as clearly, which made little sense but seemed acceptable.

Jim also noted with some surprise that there was no solid ground under his feet and that he appeared to be floating. He made a mental note to explore the possibilities of such a place and resumed his line of questioning, swallowing once to clear his throat and set his mind to the task.

"Why isn't it possible?"

"There was a fracture," Vulcan Spock replied. "Until either of us regains control, Spock will not be released. He must choose which half to embrace."

Jim snorted and crossed his arms restlessly, imagining with as much dignity he could muster that the action didn't make him bob up and down and didn't make his stomach do flip-flops. "That's stupid," he said frankly, earning him a dark look from the formerly-jovial human. "Why can't he be both?"

"That is not the way of things."

"Why not?" A hint of challenge was layered under the kind of heavy patience one used with a small child. Jim made sure to tap his foot as if he was being held up by the lack of answer.

Vulcan Spock stared at him, looking unflappably cool despite the fact that he was swaddled in heavy ceremonial Vulcan robes. Jim stared right back, and after a moment of thick silence, he laughed coarsely.

"You don't know, do you?" His arms uncrossed and he placed his hands on his hips, a condescending look settling onto his face. "What's the logic in that?"

He blinked innocently and then there was a hand wrapped around his throat and the uncomfortable sensation of what little air he had in his lungs vanishing rather abruptly. Attached to that hand was the human Spock, eyes alight with dark rage and teeth bared. "You know _nothing_, Jim," he hissed, and it was a sound that had echoes in pain and anger and ten thousand other emotions.

Jim had to remind himself that there wasn't any pressing need to breathe, him being a mental construct and all, but it didn't convince his brain to stop yelling _inhale, you idiot!_ so he grabbed weakly at Spock's wrist and gaped like a fish, prompting Human Spock to slowly unwrap his fingers from around Jim's neck, making him jerk around in the dark space furiously as he tried to regain his balance and failed.

"What," he choked out after a moment, "do I know nothing about?" He set his face on the most stubborn expression he could muster and waited. His curiosity was shortly rewarded.

The human Spock clenched both his hands into fists and was about to growl a reply when the Vulcan Spock gave him a look that could have knocked the happy out of a puppy and spoke instead.

"You are responsible for this."

Jim froze. He blinked, working his jaw, dimly aware his chest was pumping up and down and that he was flailing around, trying to keep his balance in this directionless world. It was unbelievable. He...?

"What?" It came out shortly and shook his head. "I didn't do anything! We were hanging out in our room when he just... collapsed! I didn't do anything!" His eyebrows rose and a small laugh caught in his throat, coming out like he was being kicked in the groin.

Impossible. He had done nothing. This time, at least, he could name a few occasions where he drove Spock to violence, but this wasn't one of those times... was it? What if he had done something? He'd put his best friend in a coma. Things like that, you really didn't forgive people for. Jim bit his lip until a mental representation of blood dribbled down his chin. If this was his fault...

"You cause him pain." The Vulcan Spock said it casually, as if he were remarking on the weather, or reciting a list of statistics. "You cause him to feel emotions he should not experience. You are responsible for numerous instances of mental imbalance. This is merely the fracture that has had the most severe effects."

Jim's mouth suddenly felt as if it was filled with cotton. Feeling desperate, he shook his head and said with little conviction, "I don't believe you."

The Vulcan Spock dipped his head once, almost like he had been expecting a reaction similar to that, which, for all intents and purposes, he might have. "Allow me to show you," he said calmly and clapped his hands together, pressing the palms against one another. Very slowly he drew them apart and as he did so, a thick, glistening web of a black so dark it hurt Jim's eyes to focus on it knitted itself into being between them. Around the strands lightning crackled.

Jim backpedalled furiously, windmilling his arms in a desperate attempt to get away, because he wasn't as stupid as most believed him to be and he clearly knew that the web was going to be by him in some way and that it wasn't going to be pleasant when it happened. Unfortunately for him, however, he didn't understand how to move in the blackness and in an instant Vulcan Spock was there, an inch away from his nose.

In a single smooth movement he brought his hands up, shoving them forward with the famed fluid strength of Vulcans, pressing the web into Jim's face, making to so he couldn't see or hear anything. For a single, paralyzing instant, Jim was utterly helpless. Then the web jerked, sliding off the fingers that held it, wrapping around Jim's face with a mind of its own, digging its tendrils into the skin of his cheeks, prying open his eyes and mouth and threading down his throat.

Jim's back arched; he clawed at the thing, but it was no use. The phantom pain accompanying it was sharp, sinking razor claws of agony into his brain. He let out a shout.

"Observe."

Then the images flashed in front of him, flowing around him until he was sucked under a whirlpool of light and color and sound. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his mind to still, and when he opened them, his mouth dropped.

He was transparent, first of all, and he waggled his fingers around in front of his face, grinning as he could see the far wall through them. And he was hovering a bit off the ground, he noted. Interesting. Jim blinked, recognizing the setting. Around him, the curved bowls sat like dark pits in a gray floor, hungry mouths waiting to swallow unwary prey. The lights were quite dim, but Jim found he could see well enough. Squinting, he leaned forward, then jerked back with a strangled oath.

He _remembered _this guy. That stubborn old sonuvabitch, the one from when he was still a kid with an attitude. Not that he still didn't have one, mind you, but it was a little more... pronounced as a kid. The one who had told him he had failed and was going to be held back a level.

"Bastard," Jim muttered loudly, crossing his legs so he was sitting in mid-air.

"Instructor Shil'mai," a quiet voice intoned, and Jim craned his head around so he could see the speaker, who, as he expected, was none other than Spock. A little twelve year old Spock, true, but an actual not-messed-up Spock. Not yet, at least.

"Spock." The answer was cool and the tiniest bit rude, which made Jim want to punch him all over again.

"I request that James be placed in the fourth level," Spock said bluntly. "The level test he was given was more advanced than the regular ones received by first level students." He bowed respectfully and stayed there, still and silent as a statue.

"Impossible and illogical," Shil'mai replied at once. The PADD he had been holding was now loosely clutched in his off hand as the other swept about in an all-encompassing gesture. "He did not pass the test at the required level. Therefore, he cannot be advanced. Thinking that he should be based on the merit of an associate-" this word he sneered, almost, as if he wanted to substitute another word Jim believed to be friend "-is incorrect. Have you fallen so far to human influence that you are lost to our way of life?"

Spock flinched the smallest bit, as if the words were knives whizzing past his ears. But he straightened and locked eyes with the instructor and repeated his request in a firm voice.

This time, however, instead of a verbal response, the instructor backhanded him so he stumbled and fell to the floor, clutching his cheek with one hand. He carefully stood, dusting and making sure his clothes were unwrinkled. Then he dropped back to the floor, bending at the waist so his forehead nearly touched the ground.

"I have seen many things, Instructor, but Jim is someone who is finally able to make me feel as if I am a being of worth. My mother is human and I have long since become accustomed to insults of my heritage and species. I would ask that you move Jim to the third level, because he is of an intellect worthy of such an education. Please," he added imploringly, lifting his head so his eyes were visible.

"Please."

The man stared down at him, the faintest lines of disgust tracing around his mouth. He said nothing for a moment, then murmured, "Such an emotional display, Spock. I will be having words with Sarek."

"Then you will have to explain why this conversation was necessary in the first place," Spock shot back, and Jim felt triumph flash through him. He pumped one fist in the air, silently cheering Spock on.

Shil'mai realized he had been masterfully outsmarted by a child and yielded to the logic of the situation. "So it seems," he said frostily. "I will advance James to the third level. Do not request such a thing of me again, Spock, lest I move you back one in return."

Spock nodded to his back as he turned on one heel and stalked off, pushing himself to his feet and probing his injured cheek. It looked a bit swollen from even here, Jim thought with a dash of humility, and he wondered if he was so blind as a child he couldn't see that his friend was hurt, but Spock was a sneaky devil and could hide things like that from anyone if he so chose.

"Do you understand the purpose of this?" Vulcan Spock appeared next to him with a faint flash of light and turned expectantly toward him.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Spock sacrificed his dignity and the pride he gets from Amanda to help me. That does seem to happen a bit, doesn't it?" He grinned ruefully and shrugged. "Alright, so any more things you want to show me to make your point?"

"That should be sufficient." Vulcan Spock floated over, dragging his fingertips down Jim's face, and as he pulled his hand away, trailing bits of the black web came off with it, tattered edges waving in some unknown wind. Jim slammed back into the other reality, dizzy from the experience, but he shook it off and squared his shoulders.

"Yes, Spock has sacrificed a lot for me, and it hurts him, I'm sure," Jim began, holding out his hands to stop any budding protests. "But I'd do the same for him in an astrosecond if that's what it took to help him out. You should know that," he said angrily, pointing at the human Spock, who stuck his tongue out. "You've got his emotions, right? You know how loyal he is to me. I'm the same to him."

"Of course, of course," Human Spock sing-songed, a grin stretching across his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But you don't know how he feels about anything else, now do you? You don't know how much it pains him to get taunted, or how much sadness he carries inside from the death of his beloved pet and the fear of what he could do to you at any moment he lost his temper. You don't even know that his-"

"Enough," Vulcan Spock snapped, and he turned to the teen. "James does not need to know the details of what caused the fracture."

"Why not?" Jim called.

"It is none of your concern."

Jim let out a breath in a hiss, glaring, and he clenched his right hand into a fist, holding it out in front of him. "None of my concern my ass," he growled. "I've had enough of this bullshit. Give me Spock, and get lost." He took a deep breath and prepared to put his plan into action.

"We cannot give him to you, but you may see him." Vulcan Spock and Human Spock closed their eyes, holding their arms out so the palms were facing upwards. A faded capsule, clear save for the metallic sheen, materialized. Inside the object Spock lay, stiff as a board, jaw tight and muscles tense. His eyes flicked over to Jim and widened, his jaw unclenching enough for him to whisper, "Jim..."

Jim abandoned thought and moved purely from instinct. He sprang, determination and will and sheer stubbornness driving him forward, arms outstretched until they met the structure with a solid clang that reverberated around them. He pounded on the surface but before he could imagine a way to get him out, the Spocks made it vanish. Jim let out a battle cry and let one fist lash out, colliding with the human Spock's cheek.

It was as if all-out war had been declared.

The luminous aftertrails of the bodies glowed behind Jim's eyelids as he ducked a flying kick, tucking himself into a backflip and bringing both his fists down on Vulcan Spock's shoulder, nearly breaking a bone. He was rewarded with a pinch to a nerve in his leg, making it go completely dead, and he retreated, breathing harshly.

"So, how come you guys never touch?" he asked casually, grinning as they stiffened. He'd noticed it a while ago, how they stayed close together, but carefully avoided any contact. "Is it because that'll force you two back together again, and you don't want that?"

Human Spock charged him with lightening speed, delivering a sharp uppercut to the chin that made Jim see stars. He drifted backwards, blinking mistily, trying to remove the bursts of light from his vision. After a few moments of furious eyelid movement, however, he decided that they were going to stay there and squinted past them when something clicked.

Jim was pissed, obviously. They were keeping Spock locked away in a container thing, and the last time he'd been angry, his hair had started to defy the laws of physics. Now there were sparkles floating around his head. Somehow being angry helped him in this mental battlefield, apparently, and the black looked like it could use some fun. Jim closed his eyes, funneling his fury and will and _pushed._

There was the dull sound of a vacuum filling up with air and ground solidified beneath his feet, the heady smell of fresh leaves surrounding him as corn stalks scraped against his sides. He opened his eyes and around him was green, the taste of moist air, and a very definite sense that he was in control now. He smirked and focused, drawing the two Spocks through the corn with a twitch of his fingers, but the scene was wrenched from his grasp and Iowa wavered and disappeared, blackness returning once more.

"Damn," he murmured. "This is getting ridiculous." He paused, a new idea taking shape in his mind.

The Spocks stood apart, both glaring at him, but neither seemed particularly inclined to move. They just floated across from him, unmoving, until he started speaking.

"Spock!" he called loudly. "I know you can hear me, Spock!" They lunged for him, but he sprang over them and continued talking. This was going to sound so awkward, but Jim knew it needed to be done.

"I know I've messed up, Spock," he said honestly. "I know I screw things up, and I know that you're still my friend, and-" He swallowed. "And I'm glad that I got to meet you, because I'd never want to live without you! You're the best _t'hy'la_ a guy could have!" He bit his lip, swiping angrily at his eyes. "And if you don't come out," he continued in a whisper, "I don't know what I'm gonna do."

Jim ducked his head, trying not to let the tears burning behind his eyes fall. Every word was true. He'd never had a friend as close as Spock, and to an extent, he was kind of happy that what happened happened. He'd wanted someone to be with, a friend he could call his own, someone he could trust with anything who would stay by his side through all his failures.

He clenched his jaw and twitched back; in front of him another web was forming, but this one looked far less sinister. It was a light shade of blue, like the night sky just before the first stars came out, and Jim eyed it warily, but something seemed to urge him forward, like a gentle hand on his shoulder. He ducked his head into it and the small flinch from the expected pain became unwarranted; it was patient as it sought out the receptors instead of forcing its way in.

This time, he was in Spock's room back before it was theirs, and a much younger Spock was sitting on his bed, Amanda next to him as she tried to daub at a split lip he had. Jim smiled slowly. Spock rarely let Amanda coddle him like that nowadays, he reflected, and it was nice to see that he was able to get some love like that.

He watched in silence as Spock recited the poem he himself could recall from his youth about wishing on a star. Spock fell silent, a look of total concentration overcoming his face, and in his head he could hear little Spock's voice, childish and full of quiet hope.

_I wish... for a companion. Any being who will not tease me for my differences, who will accept me for who I am. A friend._

"Enough." The voice rang out from everywhere and nowhere at once and the two Spocks shrank back, eyes darting around to find the source.

Jim chose that moment to leap, grabbing the human in one hand and the Vulcan in the other, slamming their heads together as their distraction peaked. As they connected, they merged, bright light encompassing both their forms and sucking them into a single point that disappeared with a quick pop. Jim floated back, wary, and then the world exploded and he knew no more.

* * *

Dr. McCoy, better known to many as just McCoy or even Bones, didn't like the silence.

Silence implied that things weren't working, that things weren't moving when they should be. Silence gave him time to think, and that only led to him wanting a strong drink, which he was usually not allowed to have on the basis that he'd be fired and his scholarship revoked.

So now, as he sat in the lone chair watching the two beds bob up and down gently, beeping quietly in time with their heartbeats, he thought, and he didn't like it. Next to him, Amanda, who had joined him shortly after the pair had been admitted and T'Pau had departed, paced back and forth in front of him, every so often turning to stare or pausing to worry her nails. Sarek had declined to accompany her, so it was just the two of them.

People, McCoy decided, were not simple. Not simple like, say, medicine. In medicine, you found what was wrong and you fixed it, and there wasn't much that they couldn't fix these days. Bones sighed heavily and sank a little lower in the chair.

No, not at all. People had individual hopes, dreams, desires, and all those things that made them unique clashed and conflicted with each other, causing fights and all sorts of other messes. Like his life, for example. His father was a wound that still smarted, and Katie... well, that was something else he wanted to worry about, but not now. Now these two... Jim and Spock, Spock and Jim. He couldn't imagine one without the other. He found that he didn't want to, either. It seemed wrong, somehow, for it to be just Jim or just Spock.

_I hope you know what you're doing, Jim,_ he thought morbidly. _I don't want to see the pointy-eared brat go down like this, or you with him._

"Are you sure they're all right?" Amanda asked again for the third time in as many minutes.

"Healthy, ma'am, but still unconscious," he replied distantly, lacing his fingers together and muttering, "I just told you that."

Of course he had to get snappy just as all hell broke loose. The constant beep morphed into an ominous buzz indicating both their hearts had stopped, and when he leaped into action, Spock arched his back and screamed, the sound clawing out from his chest as he continued to bend until his spine seemed like it was going to snap. Jim sat bolt upright, his heart starting up at the pace of a period machine gun firing.

There comes a time in every doctor's career when they have to make a tough decision, one that might stay with them for the rest of their lives. For McCoy, that time was now. Jim's heart was racing so quickly that if it continued it was likely to burst, and Spock was having a seizure the likes of which were unheard of by most that could cause him internal injuries if left alone. McCoy froze, undecided who to help, eyes wide and mouth dry.

The danger passed in an instant: Jim's heart slowed and he dropped back to the bed, exhausted. Spock's spasms ceased and he lay, gasping quietly for breath. Amanda leaped on them both, scolding and praising them in the same breath, even as they weakly fought her off. McCoy managed to wall off his utter failure for another time and dragged the worried mother out of the room so he could discuss with her treatment options.

Behind them the door slid shut and Jim let out a rusty chuckle that ended in a wheeze.

"Well, that was a little more intense than our usual adventure," he murmured.

"Indeed."

"Can I ask you a question? Or two?"

Spock lifted one eyebrow. "Seeing as you already have, I don't see why not."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Smartass. Listen, though... did you... I mean, could you see what was happening in there?"

Spock nodded slowly. "I am not ashamed of what you saw, Jim. I had not prepared for it, true, but-"

"Don't lie to me," Jim said tiredly and rolled over so he was facing Spock, who did the same though with a bit more effort. "If you thought it was uncomfortable, you can just say it."

"It was." Jim flinched and was about to twist so he wasn't facing his friend, but Spock cut him off with a gentle touch to the shoulder. "Jim," he said honestly. "I know what happened, and I know what you saw, but I am not ashamed. You do not need to worry. I do not blame you."

Jim sighed, feeling like a large weight had been lifted off his chest. "Thanks." A curious look crossed his face and he said, "Why did the happy Spock say he wasn't around until I came? Didn't you have fun before I came along with, like, Amanda or someone?"

"I... would not call it fun, per se," Spock hedged, forcing himself into a sitting position despite his screaming muscles. "Enjoyable, yes. But when compared to the times I have spent with you, it was several degrees less... intense." He dipped his chin once and turned to face the door. "I expect Mother will want to hear about everything," he said in a voice that sounded as if he did not want to explain it.

"Have fun with that," Jim said, smiling, and dropped off into deep slumber.

"Jim," Spock sighed exasperatedly, but there was a fondness in his eyes that indicated he was much more pleased than he let on.

He levered himself off the bed and hobbled over to the door, prepared to tell yet another fascinating story.

* * *

"...and I completely froze, couldn't help them one damn bit," McCoy slurred, and he lifted the bottle of whiskey sent to him every week by a generous benefactor to his lips and took a deep gulp. On the vid-screen, Katie gave him a disapproving glare. "An' now," he snarled, "an' now, he's gonna be at risk for that to happen again and again and again and again..." He trailed off with a hiccup.

"Len," Katie said imploringly. "You shouldn't drink this much. If it's bothering you, talk to me first! Don't go to your liquor cabinet for comfort!"

Bones laughed long and hard, raising the glass container in a mock salute. "Sound just like my dad," he drawled, taking another big drink. "Always harassing me about my drinkin' habits, when his were as bad as mine."

"Len-"

"Will you marry me?"

Katie stopped, her mouth open. Shock was painted over her face and she worked her jaw, at a loss for words. Finally she managed to splutter, "Len? What are you talking about?"

He seemed to sober up at once and the dark purple shadows beneath his eyes suddenly seemed like bruises in the low light. "Please. I need someone in my life who isn't gonna go gallivanting across the universe and who isn't gonna get themselves killed before they're twenty."

"Come ask me proper," she snapped without venom, and McCoy could see her warm brown eyes fill up with tears. "Take some vacation days and come ask me properly, Leonard McCoy."

Bones winked. "See you soon, love." Then he cut the connection.

Yes. People were indeed complicated, but he was gonna make due, and that was all that mattered.

---

**Notes:**

Um... Sorry. Yeah. ^^; Swim ate my life. Good news is, I got my varsity letter, and got accepted to four colleges. Yay!

Don't own, don't sue. Leave a review, favorite, whatever. Feedback is love.

Would anyone be interested in me writing a spinoff series for the little in-between moments from this? Like, say, a one-shot about Jim going vegetarian, a one-shot of Spock getting used to sleeping in the same room as Jim, etc. Let me know, and ideas are once again love. Also, go check out chapter one. I re-did it a bit. Like, no like? Tell me about it.

Peace.


	15. fifteen

**One Year Later**

**Spock - 18 Jim - 17**

It was quiet when Jim awoke. Very quiet. In fact, he marveled to himself as he crawled out of bed and began sorting through his dresser, looking for some kind of shirt he owned that didn't look like he was trying to disappear behind his collar. He'd put up with it in the past - gone beyond it, in fact, and simply wore the undershirt most of the time anyway - but he knew it was a big day for Spock.

Far be it from him to steal the limelight.

So when the thumping began, Jim hardly noticed it at first. While their house, like every other, had been proofed so the howling winds couldn't be heard, it could allow sounds to pass through the inner walls.

The thumping intensified, a low, steady pounding, and Jim straightened, looking at the wall that separated his room from Sarek and Amanda's.

It took less than a second for him to finally put the pieces together and once it had clicked, he threw on the first clean shirt and pants he could find, bolting out of the room like there was a Klingon embassy on his rear.

He thundered down to the kitchen where Spock was reviewing something on a PADD, quietly munching on a slice of toast as his eyes flicked back and forth.

"Spock-" Jim opened his mouth to demand why his parents couldn't go... do that somewhere else. Preferably when there wasn't a teenager who'd learned about sex from a vindictive doctor in the room next door. But the words caught in his mouth as Spock looked up with a carefully blank face that promised pain if he finished his inquiry.

"Is there something you wished to ask, Jim?" Spock said frostily, gracefully rising to his feet and sending a withering look in Jim's direction.

"Well, I could ask why your parents don't seem to mind we're still in the house, but from the look you're giving me, I think chopping off my own parts seems easier and less painful," Jim quipped.

"It is private business, Jim, and I suggest you let it rest." Spock rinsed his plate and dried it quickly, placing it back in a cupboard and gliding through the living room, slipping on his shoes and closing the door quietly behind him. Jim childishly stuck his tongue out at the closed door and went about his own morning routine at a much more sedate pace.

Breakfast was consumed in good time and Jim, rolling his eyes, took to the streets. Spock was probably a little anxious about his finishing test. It wasn't every day that you had the potential to break every academic and physical record on file in one fell swoop.

Then again, Jim pondered as he scuffed his shoes in the dust, causing raised eyebrows and not-scowls all along the sidewalk, whatever was going on with Sarek and Amanda could be having some kind of effect on him.

For a brief moment Jim thought about mind-controlling sex noises and nearly choked on his tongue. That was a mental picture almost as disturbing as the dream he'd had with T'Pring, Spock, and the learning bowls filled with whipped cream...

He shook his head viciously. Now was not the time to revisit old thoughts. Taking a deep breath, tasting the grit in the air and feeling the heat burn on his brow, he strolled through the enormous doors and took in the familiar surroundings.

Jim was a year behind Spock, true, but - on orders from Amanda, who'd taken the suggestion from her husband - he had participated (been forced, basically) to take an aptitude test. The results placed him on level ground with Spock, with minute and downright negligible differences in certain areas. He remembered feeling awfully smug that day, too, he thought as he slipped into his class. Listening to the muted tap-tap of footsteps on the smooth floor as the members of his level entered their bowls, Jim couldn't help but look for the instructor.

It wasn't the same one who'd insulted and struck Spock all those years ago, but he was almost certainly tied with that position in Jim's mind. He'd been about as courteous as a wild _sehlat_ during their mating season. The fact that Jim was human and advanced enough to be in the level past his didn't earn him any points, though.

Jim looked over his shoulder, remembering the one and only time his instructor had been tardy. In the end, he'd gotten forty hours of floor scrubbing and had been knocked out for three hours all because he made a... less than polite inference about where he had been. He'd practically been asking for it, though, glaring down his nose as he patted his robes back into place.

But, to his chagrin, the instructor was absent. The students continued on without him, Jim noted, and he plunked down the steps, already going over the calculations of yesterday's information to make sure he had the math right. But one corner of his mind continued to bother him with random little snippets of observations.

_Kykin isn't here. He just turned eighteen, didn't he? Neither is T'Pwon. I thought they were together, or whatever the Vulcans use for going out. Bondmates, Spock called them, I think. That's so weird. It's not like them to miss class. Unless they're dead._

Jim blinked, amazed by the pessimistic tone of his subconscious. He never was like that back on Terra. He'd been cheeky, yeah, and a bit of an ass at times, but he never thought that people were dead when they didn't show.

Something strange was going on, that was for sure. Spock knew what was going on, he thought, but for whatever reason was keeping clammed up about it. Jim shrugged. His friend's shyness on certain topics never ceased to cause Jim wonder. It was a surprise that Spock was only eighteen. He acted like he was twice that age.

The lesson was abruptly short, and Jim was thankful. It gave him plenty of time to think of questions to badger Spock with when he came out of his private testing area.

A few hours later, Jim was so bored he could have found entertainment banging his head on the wall. The door separating him from his answers was thick, sound-proof, of an unassuming slate gray and almost invisible in the wall. Only the faint outline of the frame allowed Jim to find it in the first place, especially because his instructor had drilled it into him that he was never going to enter that room.

Which made him work all the harder in his studies, but was Jim going to tell him that? There were other things to wonder about.

Like why people were missing and why Spock's parents seemed to disregard the young ears in the house.

Finally, just as Jim was about to open the damn thing and demand his friend back, it creaked rustily and disgorged Spock, who looked unflappably calm, despite the fact his hands were shaking and his nostrils were flared. Behind him was a single female instructor, who muttered something too low to understand in his ear and took off at a quick pace, which, translated to Human, was like the woman took off at a dead sprint.

"C'mon, you look like you need to unwind a bit," Jim said quietly and grabbed a hold of the fabric of Spock's shirt, gently tugging him to the main doors and out into the bright, harsh world.

Jim had been living on Vulcan since he was ten. There was little he hadn't explored in his seven years, but in all his discoveries, the spring never ceased to take his breath away. Surrounded by rock, marbled with dark and light colors, the spring had remained even as I-Chaya's grave site had been reclaimed by the planet. The water was clear, little glints of silver flashing in the sunlight as fish swam through the depths.

Spock had already situated himself at the water's edge, uncaring of the dirt as he adjusted his position minutely and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Jim huffed impatiently and crawled under a protruding rock, protecting him from the worst of the sun's heat and radiation.

"So, how'd it go?" Jim asked conversationally.

"There are many items which I could have approached in a different manner, but I do not recall any problems I could not solve. The physical aptitude test was much more difficult, but I believe I passed that much as well."

Jim rolled his eyes, languidly stretching his legs out as he propped himself up on his elbows, a small laugh bubbling out.

"Spock, I don't see why you worry so much."

"This is the most important test in my career, which could allow me entry into the Vulcan Science Academy," Spock said in a tight voice, his eyes opening and going flinty.

"Yeah, yeah," Jim said, flopping onto his back and waving a dismissing hand. "You're the best. Shut up and accept it."

Spock blinked, the tips of his ears burning a dark green. "Thank you."

"Now that that's out of the way," Jim said to the rock above him, "I've got a few questions about this morning. Since you've gotten your big test out of the way, I don't see you blowing me off from stress."

"I did not-"

"Yes you did. Now why were so many people missing from class?"

Spock glanced away, biting his lip. "It is no concern of yours, Jim."

Jim sat up quickly, narrowly missing the sheet of earth above his noggin. "Then why were your parents just doing it? They know we know what happens, why not wait until we left?"

"Jim, please." There was a pleading tone in there now, but Jim was far to curious - or bull-headed - to let a question go unanswered. "They are fine. They will be fine. You need to let the matter drop."

"And why did your instructor start running off?" It was a small exaggeration, but it served his purpose. "And why aren't some people affected?"

"Jim!" Spock said sharply, suddenly on his feet. Every muscle was a tense line, and his mouth was a dark slash on his face. Blue eyes met brown, curiosity warring with the need for secrecy and discretion.

There was a very still moment, in which neither combatant looked away. Their eyes remained locked, a silent battle of wills ensuing in lieu of words.

"It is called... _pon farr_. It is a drive; a burning need to... consummate a bonding. Or reaffirm one, in the case of many of the older Vulcans." Spock's voice was low, as if he feared being overheard, but Jim was leaning forward, eager to understand.

"Once every seven years a Vulcan must return and mate with his wife. If it is his first pon farr, then the bond made when he was young with a female must be satisfied. A challenge may be issued over the woman, but either way, it must subdue the blood fever, or the Vulcan male will die. It is not something we enjoy, Jim, you must understand that." Spock inhaled deeply and stifled his squalling nerves. "It will last about seven days. Until then, I advise you to lay low. Do not advertise the fact you know their situation. Starfleet has been given strict orders not to let any personnel beam down without strict permission."

Jim was smiling, an ironic smile that Spock did not enjoy seeing.

"And what do you find to be humorous?" the half-Vulcan practically hissed, his eyes flashing.

"You do realize you almost described the life cycle of a specific kind of fish, right?" Jim drawled. Spock just stared at him, jaw clenched, a knot of betrayal burning in his gut.

Jim didn't understand. He couldn't. Spock hadn't felt the blood fever - he was hoping (though he'd never admit it) that, with his human blood, it would pass him - but watching his fellows lose their composure in the insatiable drive to mate until the burning ceased hurt. Logic was abandoned. It was a sacrilege upon all Vulcan-kind, that they allowed themselves to be brought so low.

"It was a joke, Spock," Jim said after a moment, feeling an embarrassed blush rise to his cheeks. "I was kidding, alright? You're not fish, you're Vulcans. Okay?"

"Even under normal circumstances that would not amuse me," Spock forced out through gritted teeth. "I am fortunate that I am not lost to the blood fever, the _plak tow_, in my language."

"Bet that would've been hard to explain." Jim shrugged. "Alright, so you're planet's gone sex crazy. We just hang out until then. Sound good to you?"

Spock nodded tersely and unclenched his fists, taking a deep, soothing breath as he reseated himself, folding his legs and focusing his inner energies on calm productivity. That, however, was quickly shattered as Jim tapped him on the shoulder and whispered in a tone far too excited to be considered healthy, "If none of the adults are up and around, what say you to a little jaunt around town? You can stop by and say hi to T'Pring, if you want. I know how anxious you get about these things."

"I think it would be very unwise."

Silence, save for the gentle gurgling of the spring.

"You have not moved, I presume?"

"Please?" Jim begged. "I need to get you a present for graduation, don't I?"

Spock arched an eyebrow, noting, "Is it not futile to get me a gift when I am with you?"

Jim smirked, hooking an arm under Spock's elbow and helping him to his feet. "Only if I'm trying to surprise you, and I know how much you loathe surprises." He winked once and took off at a lazy jog, lightly bounding down the rocks of the path with agility he had not had years previous.

Spock watched Jim disappear into the sun's glare and sighed heavily, a display of emotion he allowed himself to express for his utter exasperation. Once the gesture was completed, he made his own way down, slightly surprised to see Jim impatiently tapping his foot just before the thorn barrier. Spock looked at him, unblinking, until Jim huffed, "It's got big thorns and last time I tried, I broke the damn thing. And myself, too," he added as an afterthought.

Quite true. He had been instructed where to move the plant by Spock and somehow managed to trip, nearly gore himself to death, while ripping off half the leaves from the thing. Dr. McCoy had not been happy.

Almost as if Jim had read his mind, the human piped up, "I wonder if Bones's married yet."

"He left three point four weeks ago. I imagine he has been married for some time." Spock feathered through the pricker bush, creating a small hole which Jim gratefully crawled through, and slid out into the outskirts of town behind him. "He should be returning in one point six weeks."

"Had enough vacation time, I see," Jim mumbled, scuffing his shoe along the sidewalk as they headed off into the more consumer-friendly portion of the area. "Damn shame we couldn't go. Stupid Sarek and his obsession with school." He threw his hands up in mock anger. "Here we are, stuck on this dustball, knowing just about everything there is to know, and he couldn't let us take a few days off to see my friend get married." Jim sighed, letting his head fall.

"Our education is important," Spock reminded him gently.

"So is our social connection," Jim responded primly as he turned on his heel and shouldered a door open, heedless of the lack of lights inside. Spock wanted to remind Jim that, hey, most of the adults were busy doing something else, but Jim picked up a package on the counter, left a small wad of bills in its place, and strolled out again.

"Here," Jim said, thrusting the package at him. "Open it now."

Raising one eyebrow, Spock did so, fingers moving quickly against the rough covering until it had been deftly removed. He blinked, taken aback.

"They say music helps relieve stress, and I know Sarek wouldn't mind if you expanded your horizons a bit, so it'll be good to learn," Jim concluded. "Do you like it?"

"I..." One thin finger plucked at a string, eliciting a sharp note that hung brazenly in the afternoon air. "Yes. I do like it."

Jim's smile outshone the sun. "Good."

Spock looked at Jim curiously, then back down at the object in his hands. Strings made of thin wire stretched across a lacquered wooden board, the stem of the Vulcan lute curling slightly, allowing for different lengths and thusly different pitches. It held firm in his hands; he could tell it was properly made, and probably more expensive than he'd prefer.

It was Jim's way of saying 'about damn time, you idiot'. Though his face did not move, Jim could see the pure pleasure in Spock's eyes, the eagerness to test it out, to let his fingers dance across the strings and lose himself in the sounds it would produce.

Spock nodded once, shifting the burden into a more comfortable position as he began walking back towards home. There was no reason he could see for carrying it around all day, beautiful though it was.

The streets were empty, bare of even the most common of visitors. Jim was looking around in amazement; even as he understood that the majority of the population was indisposed, to see it so obviously was a surprise.

One Vulcan, however, did not seem to be affected, and was sedately walking down the opposite sidewalk. Her attire flowed out behind her, and for all the world, T'Pring looked as if the entire mess had decided to pass her by. Jim smiled slightly.

She was alright, he supposed. Not too nice, but... okay, for a Vulcan. He knew he'd met others less tolerant than her, that was for sure.

Jim waved, a huge grin on his face, and caught her eye. She tipped her head once in his direction; a chill acknowledgement. But Jim just shrugged and continued walking, seeing no reason to stop and talk.

Until, at least, the distinct sound of a phaser firing and a body dropping to the ground were heard. At this, the pair whirled around, expecting to see another enemy, swathed in shadows and the intent to kill, but the landscape was barren. Jim swore through clenched teeth and Spock tilted his head, quickly crossing the road and examining the remains of where T'Pring had been.

A faint scorch mark and scuffed ground were all that was left. Spock gripped the lute tighter, trailing his fingers over the mark.

"T'Pring is still alive," he murmured, his eyes half-lidded. "That much I know."

"How?"

Spock glanced up from his crouched position to look at Jim, who's face had tightened. "We are bonded, Jim. It is faint, but there. If she were dead, I would be in a small amount of discomfort."

"Alright, any idea where she went?" Spock rose fluidly to his feet, shaking his head in the negative. He was about to give a conjecture, however, when they heard panting, and they turned around to see a Starfleet officer, doubled over and wheezing painfully. His face was almost as red as his hair, and after a moment, he straightened and stuck out his hand.

"Montgomery Scott, nice to meet you, et cetera," he huffed. "You seen a man going by the name of La'vi? Tall, dark hair, carrying a phaser, teleports?"

Jim flicked his eyes briefly over to Spock's, who nodded in understanding. "Seen him? No. We do believe that he has taken an acquaintance of ours, however."

"Great," Scott muttered, running a hand through his hair and then putting it on his hip. His agitation was almost palpable, and Spock was beginning to feel the tension cramp up above his ear.

"We should go alert the Council," Jim said, pointing to the large and imposing education facility that hovered over the shops like an overprotective parent. Without waiting for an answer, he took off at a brutal pace, loping along without missing a beat. Scott let out a harried groan and moved to follow, Spock quickly overpassing him in an attempt to catch up to his friend.

"Jim," Spock breathed, cautiousness bordering on paranoia, "you know what is going on now! No one from the Council will be present. This is a futile gesture."

"Yeah, yeah, pon farr and everything," Jim said, rolling his eyes. The relaxed tone his voice had taken on made Spock grind his teeth for a bare instant. "C'mon, you guy's are the smartest in the galaxy, there should be at least one guy there, right?"

"I am not entirely sure that is probable," Spock muttered, more to himself than anything, but with T'Pring's life possibly in the balance, he was willing to take a chance. Or, more accurately, he was willing to let Jim take a chance and follow behind, making sure everything would still be alive and unscarred at the end. He glanced over his shoulder, watching as Scott fell farther and farther behind, face red, sweat beading heavily on his brow.

"Perhaps we should slow down so Mr. Scott can accompany us?" Spock suggested.

"Nah," Jim said breezily, flapping one hand noncommittally. "He's Starfleet. They're supposed to be in good shape, right? And he's a redshirt. He's toast either way."

"Just because the engineering division has suffered the most deaths in Starfleet records does not mean he will die," Spock scolded. "Your fascination with Starfleet completely juxtaposes your dislike of it."

Jim grunted, eyebrows furrowed, but by that time they had reached the main entrance to the school and were merely waiting for Scott to catch up, which took almost ten minutes. Spock was only growing more twitchy every minute that passed.

It had been hard enough for his parents to contract a bondmate for him. If T'Pring died, there would be no chance of getting another, due to the fact the bond was made early and that all females of a suitable age were already bonded. And, his mind whispered bitterly, even if there were eligible Vulcan women, they would never consent to bond with a half-blood.

Once Scott had caught up, Jim pulled a thin, metal pin out of his pocket, stripping off the electronic lock for the door and setting to work. Scott watched with interest as Jim reworked the circuitry and inserted the pin into one of the uploading jacks, making the light flash green and allowing them entrance.

Normally the door wasn't locked, but school was out for the night, so it was warded against intruders. Such as the trio that was currently sneaking around, squinting to adjust their eyes. The windows could be adjusted to allow certain amounts of light in, and it had been set to the approximate visibility of dusk.

"This way," Jim whispered, waving Scott down a hall. The Starfleet officer had been wandering down a different hall, drawn by the complicated yet strangely beautiful Vulcan inscriptions along the walls.

"Alright," Scott said, his accent growing thicker as he began to tense. "Here's the plan: you two distract La'vi, I'll rescue the woman, rewire some of the seats if I can, and contact my ship to beam him back up. It'll be tricky. He teleports, so watch out."

"Who made you the leader?" Jim snapped, eyes blazing. "Why the hell are you even here?"

Scott bit his lip, hunched his shoulders, and muttered quickly, "I thought I could beam him aboard directly into the brig but someone screwed with my coordinates and he was beamed here instead. That and the dog incident have gotten me relocated, even though they're interested as to how I beamed him from the transporter room aboard the starship down here. Not that hard, really." He shrugged. "Just simple physics. All you got to do is-"

"I'm not interested in a science lesson," Jim drawled. "Just get in the elevator, alright? Spock, care to do the honors?"

They crouched down low, keeping against the wall, and Spock was able to enter in the encoded password for the elevator. Once they were all inside, Spock murmured, "High Council Chambers."

With a jerk, they were off, pressed into the ground from the extraneous forces, but it had hardly lasted for a minute when the doors pinged and opened, allowing them to stagger out. Jim scooted against the wall, placing his back to it, and peered through the glass of the doors.

"I can't see anything," he said, disappointed. "Spock, on three."

He counted off the numbers quickly and they yanked the door open, Jim's fists held out and Spock ready to nerve pinch him into submission. The room was empty, however, save for a limp bundle of cloth.

"T'Pring." Spock nodded once to Scott, who side-stepped the pair and continued around the back way. Jim and Spock took another hesitant step forward, scanning the cavernous room.

"I haven't been here in ages," Jim said, feeling strangely nostalgic for the circumstances. His musings were cut short by a shout of pain from behind.

They whirled around to see Scott on one knee, one hand pressed into his face, and blood dripping down his arm. Above him gloated the man. He was dressed in the tattered rags of what looked to be ceremonial robes, and his face was craggy and pockmarked, full of sharp angles and harsh lines.

"Oh, Scotty, how far the hero has fallen," La'vi sneered, slamming the butt of the weapon he held against Scott's face. It clipped him on the cheekbone; an audible crack was heard and a faint scream was pried from the man's mouth, and he rolled with the blow, landing on his chest.

"You came to me with dreams of proving every one of your peers wrong, and now... you're teaming up with two children to rescue one little damsel in distress?" La'vi chuckled darkly. "How sad."

Scotty levered himself to a kneeling position, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "You said you wanted to join the Federation, bring peace to your world," he snarled, his face caked with blood. "Lyin' little rat!"

One hand whipped out, catching the filthy captor in the sternum; with a gasp, he crumpled in on himself, unable to breathe properly. Scott stood, running for the stairs located behind the rows of elevated seats. With any luck, he could contact his captain and explain the situation.

La'vi quickly recollected himself, pure hatred simmering on his face. He closed his eyes, obviously about to teleport back to T'Pring's side, but a shouted, "Hey, asshole!" reclaimed his attention. As he opened his eyes, he beheld the children.

One was obviously Vulcan, standing behind the human who had challenged him. The human's blue eyes were filled with fire, and he held his balled fists at his sides. They were shaking, La'vi noted. From terror, or excitement?

"Is there something you wanted, boy?" he cooed. "I have been faithful. The girl is my reward. But perhaps you would rather fill that position yourself, hmm?"

Jim launched himself at the man, but he simply popped out of existence and returned a few feet to the left.

"You are weak. I am superior to all races!" La'vi cried, lifting his hands. "I shall rule! Me!"

Jim was about to make another go for him when he caught sight of Scott, frantically untying T'Pring with shaking hands. His face was swollen and puffy; it was obvious he was in no small amount of pain. T'Pring rubbed her arms to return feeling to them and caught his eye, indicating with a quick hand motion that she was going to attempt to nerve pinch him from behind.

"Yeah, well," Jim said scornfully, "if you're so superior, why'd you kidnap an innocent woman? Couldn't get your reward with a willing victim?"

La'vi's eyes nearly bulged out of his head, and he leveled the phaser on Jim, the deadly energy whining slightly as it built in the chamber. Jim swallowed, stilling.

He'd been in a lot of bad scrapes, but this... he was staring down the business end of a phaser. Couldn't move, because the guy had fast reflexes and would shoot him anyway. Couldn't call attention to T'Pring, unless he wanted her to get shot, and that was just wrong. Scott was now tinkering with something in one of the platforms; hooking up his communicator and frantically tearing wires out.

"What, too cowardly to shoot me?" Jim taunted, and he could practically feel Spock's gaze burning into his back. True, this wasn't the wisest thing to be doing, but as long as T'Pring was okay...

Why the hell was he so worried about her, anyway? he wondered. She's Spock's bondmate. He didn't get crushes on friend's girlfriends, even if they weren't technically going out and she was awfully pretty sometimes... Jim shook his head. No time for wondering about that.

"Silence!" La'vi shrieked. "Infidel! I will kill you and scatter your remains to the winds!"

"Ooh, scary." Jim smirked, little panicky chuckles bubbling out of his lips. Behind the crazy guy, T'Pring nodded.

She dropped to the ground silently, taking off at a dead sprint, one hand coming up, fingers splayed. She was ready.

But apparently, so was La'vi. He tucked himself into a ball, only letting T'Pring's fingers graze the nerve cluster, and she overshot, coming to a skidding halt next to Jim. La'vi, for all his boasting and threatening, was breathing heavily, unable to move. He was still conscious, unfortunately, but mostly paralyzed.

"Scott, whatever the hell you're doing, do it now!" Jim shouted. La'vi twitched, his eyes rolling madly in their sockets.

"Captain Pike, transmitting transporter coordinates for prisoner La'vi, please beam up! Repeat: please beam up!" Scotty jabbed two wires together furiously, wincing at the fountain of sparks that resulted. But the message was sent, apparently, because motes of light danced around the crouched man, and as the crackling signaled a successful transport, a faint screech of fury erupted from the man.

Moments before it was complete, the finger on the trigger of the phaser twitched, sending a lancing beam of pure energy at Jim, who stood frozen.

After all he'd done. All he'd fought to accomplish. And he was going to die here, shot down by an insane man.

At least, until Spock nearly yanked his arm out of socket pulling him down. The shot missed by a hair; Jim collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily. His mind replayed the last ten seconds: watching the trigger depress, the beam coming at him, then skating above him as he fell.

"Thank you, Spock," Jim choked out. Trembles wracked his frame.

He'd gotten close calls before, but not as close as that, apparently. Spock glanced over at T'Pring, saw her turn her back to him to inquire about something with Scott, and quickly put his arms around Jim, squeezing gently before letting go just as fast. Jim blinked, astonished, and opened his mouth to say something, but T'Pring was suddenly there, thanking them.

"Alright," Scott said, talking through puffed lips, a large bruise already darkening around his eyes. "I'm gonna beam up. Thanks." He seemed a little woozy, Jim noticed, if the way he was speaking was any indicator. He probably sustained a concussion, Jim thought. Best send him up.

He gently stole the communicator out of Scott's hand, flipping it open and saying, "Captain Pike?"

"Who is this? It is against the law for civilians to use Starfleet property."

"Jim Kirk, requesting you beam Scott up before he falls over from blood loss."

A rush of static over the communicator. "Jim... fine. Thanks. That was a big mess. Have you thought about joining-"

"No," Jim snapped. "Your welcome. Good bye." He snapped it closed, stuffing it into Scott's pants and watching dispassionately as he was torn into atoms and sent skywards.

"Thank you, James, Spock." T'Pring nodded once, then strode out the of the chamber, looking as if she hadn't just been a part of a kidnapping, however short it was.

"Bitch," Jim muttered. "Saved your damn life and all you say is thanks?"

He shook his head and turned to Spock, who was staring at him intently, pinning him to the spot with his dark gaze.

"Jim... please do not endanger yourself like that ever again." Spock took a deep breath and Jim noticed for the first time that he was shaking, too, his hands. Spock clasped them behind his back, putting them out of sight. "I understand that we find ourselves in adverse situations, but taunting that man was dangerous and reckless."

Jim glanced away from Spock, chewing on his lip. Okay, sure, he wasn't all that responsible, but he was just playing along. He knew that the guy was dangerous! It wasn't like he was doing it for fun! But... Spock looked so worried. Crestfallen, almost.

"Sorry," Jim muttered.

Spock tipped his head forward, and the pair walked out without another word.

* * *

**One Week Later**

Jim pressed his face into the glass, wishing it wasn't opaque and that he could be in there with Spock. They were going to pick at him until he snapped, he just knew it. There was nothing he could do about it, either, and it certainly wasn't helping his mood.

"Jim," Amanda said, sighing. "There's nothing we can do but wait. Please sit down, you're making me nervous."

"I can't hear what those bastards are saying over there," he snapped. At Amanda's reprising look, he mumbled an apology and pressed his ear firmly against the glass.

"It is remarkable how much you have managed to accomplish, Spock, considering your... weakness."

Jim hissed angrily. There it was; there was always a catch, damn it!

"Weakness, sir?"

Spock didn't sound terribly pleased either.

"Why, your human mother and that human child you have been forced to live with for seven years."

Jim felt the urge to punch through the glass and rush to his friend's defense, but Spock's cutting reply left him speechless.

"Considering that Jim is the reason I have pushed myself so hard and that my mother is supportive of my endeavors, unlike the Science Board, I find myself unable to accept your request."

"No Vulcan has ever declined admittance into the Vulcan Science Academy!" The elder's voice sounded scandalized, making Jim smile. He had to hold in the chuckles that wanted to escape.

"Then as I am half-human, your record remains untarnished." Then, with a bit of venom: "Live long and prosper."

Jim jumped away from the door as it came swinging open, allowing Spock to step through, his hand-knitted sweater (a gift from Amanda - Jim thought it looked like a pile of tangled yarn, but Spock adored it) uneven at the hems, evidence of his nervous tugging.

"So, now that you've just destroyed any chance of that happening," Jim said, referring to the Academy, "what exactly do you plan to do?"

Spock glanced toward his mother, who smiled and nodded. "Best to tell him now, love."

"Tell me what?"

"I have applied to and been accepted at Starfleet's top university. If I apply myself, I can become an officer within four years and continue my studies in sciences abroad."

Jim was silent. A dark look shadowed his eyes and he glared at his friend, hands clenched. Words failed him.

"I knew you would not be pleased at my choice, so I refrained from mentioning it." Spock looked away, taking a quick breath and letting it hiss out between his teeth.

"Not pleased?" Jim whispered. It was full of anger and pain, a fresh pain from an old wound. "They don't give a damn!" he shouted, grabbing a fistful of Spock's sweater and dragging him close. Though Spock was taller than Jim, the younger man still made for an imposing figure. "Starfleet killed my father, and now you're going to go too?"

"Yes."

"Then I have nothing to say to you anymore." Jim shoved Spock once, hard, forcing him to take a step back. His bright blue eyes, normally filled with mirth, were dead blue orbs. Spock swallowed. Those eyes did not belong with his Jim.

"Jim, please-"

"Please what?" Jim snarled bitterly. "Please don't leave? Fuck you, Spock."

"Jim, this is illogical. You are allowing your emotions to overcome your thoughts. Just because your father was killed does not mean I will die."

Shoulders hunched, eyes narrowed, Jim spat, "Starfleet is the reason my mother couldn't hardly look at me without crying. Starfleet is the reason my mother never allowed me to go anywhere near space. Starfleet is the reason I've lost everything. And now I'm losing you."

"Jim-"

"Good bye, Spock. Good riddance." With those final words, Jim turned and stalked off, never once looking back.

Within three days Spock was gone, the only items missing a few sets of spare clothes and the lute Jim had given him. Within a week Jim was gone, a bag of shirts and pants missing, their owner having scrounged up enough money to hop on the next transport to Terra.

Within a month, Amanda and Sarek were alone.

* * *

"Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight," Amanda whispered, leaning against the railing of the balcony. Her head scarf fluttered around her face as the wind whipped it back and forth, though she ignored it. In her grasp was a picture, loosely clutched, showing a sandy-haired human boy with brilliant blue eyes smiling brightly, one arm slung around the shoulders of a dark-haired half-Vulcan, who showed no expression on his face. "I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight."

She bowed her head, watching as two drips of moisture landed on the glass of the picture, quickly vanishing in the dry air. She trailed two fingers down the frame, a wobbly smile appearing as she thought of her boys. Her men.

"Keep them safe. Wherever they are."

---

**Notes:**

Ah, well... yeah. Writer's block, then winter break. I managed to get it all out, though it sounded much better in my head. Especially the whole contrived mini-plot thing. I apologize. But a few rewrites later, and some interesting reviews, here's the new one. It's extra long, over six thousand words. Consider it an apology and a prezzie. ^_^

Thanks to all who've reviewed so far. We've broken four hundred. Hooray! Final count for the year of 2009: 401 reviews, 41,473 hits, 14 C2s, 220 favs, and 339 alerts.

Hope you all had a happy holiday and I wish you the best for a new year.

I don't own Star Trek, leave a review please?, and finally, thanks. I've got big plans for the movie itself, and hopefully it'll turn out better.

Until next time, peace.


	16. sixteen

It took all of Leonard McCoy's willpower not to put his fist through a wall. Instead, he forced himself to inhale several times, grinding his teeth and feeling his nails bite into his palms. Once he felt he was reasonably calm, he unlocked his jaw and growled, "_And you didn't stop them_?"

Amanda looked unflappable, as always, calm and collected like an ambassador's wife should be. Her cool blue eyes took in his haggard appearance, the wedding band on his finger, his agitation. Yet, for all the emotion he exuded, she remained statuesque.

"They are adults. They are free to make their own decisions. I am not going to stop them."

McCoy lost it; he slammed his open palms onto the counter and began swearing in several languages as his energy dissolved into mindless pacing.

"Jim's seventeen! Spock is barely legal! If anything, you should've kept Jim 'til he finished school! And now they're both gone, no contact numbers, how the hell do they expect to accomplish anything..." His ranting continued on for several minutes, complete with jerky gesticulations and punctuated with vehement promises of what he was going to do when he found them again, involving painful sedation and tying them to a bed until they came to their senses.

Amanda remained still and silent, watching the man work out his anger and frustration. Dr. McCoy didn't notice when a single tear slipped down Amanda's face, drying almost instantly in the moisture-barren atmosphere, so absorbed in his diatribe he was. Finally she stood, head scarf trailing regally, and gently grabbed his elbow.

"They are both very angry at each other," she said softly. "Neither one will admit they hurt the other's feelings, and until then, we will simply have to wait."

Bones just stared at her, uncomprehending. Spock and Jim, angry at each other? That wasn't a big deal; more than once he'd been called to cool the human teen down, when an argument looked like it was getting out of control, but to not apologize? More than anything, that confused him.

Spock, for whatever reason, always admitted when the fault was his; it took prompting, but Jim would do so as well. For both of them to be so stubborn to think they were right was... almost unbelievable. The friendship they shared made being furious almost impossible, due simply to the fact that they were forced to spend time in close quarters with one another.

_Of course,_ his mind whispered, _they're not living together now. No common roof over their heads. No reason to apologize. They could go the rest of their lives without seeing one another again. Same goes for me. No clue as to where Jim went, and Spock... well, I was always closer to Jim. _

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair, and peered at Amanda. As much as her position in life called for her to be stoic, she looked frail, old. Stress had kept her awake at night, the heavy purple bags under her eyes said. She worried for their safety. As much as she wished she could keep them under her wing, she knew every baby bird had to leave the nest eventually.

It wasn't until later, after he had left her home and returned to the hospital to finish up the remainder of his studies on Vulcan, that her statement finally clicked.

_She said Spock was angry. Spock is trained to be Vulcan, no matter how much evidence I've seen to the contrary. God, she's serious. I need to find them, knock some sense into their heads. If only to make her sleep a little easier at night._

At the end of his schooling, one month after his return to Vulcan, five weeks after his marriage and Jim and Spock's split, he graduated with the one of the highest medical degrees Vulcan had to offer. The ceremony was small, private; only Amanda was present, and she was the only one to say good-bye when he left the scorching hot planet behind.

* * *

"Spock?"

It took a moment, but Spock forced his eyes open and made his muscles relax. He was tense, far too tense to have tried meditation, but his emotions were volatile, liable to explode if he did not keep them under control. So he lit his incense, plucked away at his lute, and settled in to organize his thoughts. It didn't take long, though, for the maelstrom to overcome his concentration, and only when the voice had arrived did it shatter completely.

"Yes." Unwilling to allow the frustration he certainly did not feel to color his voice, he schooled his face into a neutral position and fluidly rose to his feet, keying in the code to allow the visitor entrance.

The door slid open to reveal Captain Pike, who smiled brightly and stuck out his hand. He seemed to remember that Spock wasn't one for physical contact then, and flushed as he tucked it behind him once again.

"Is there a reason for this visit, Captain?"

"Cadet, I'm very pleased to offer you a teaching position at this fine establishment," the man said, a smile threatening to split his face in two. The stern, captainly expression didn't last long, and he nodded. "It'd be an honor to work with you," he finished.

Spock was... not surprised. He didn't feel surprise. It was unbecoming of a Vulcan. So he settled for saying it was unexpected and left it at that. He had only been attending for a year, but it was clear in that time that he far outpaced every cadet in the vicinity. Of course, this hadn't gone unnoticed by the higher-ups, and he'd figured they would opt for a less embarrassing route. Namely, asking him to leave.

"I... accept. What subject would I be teaching?"

Captain Pike shrugged, raising his eyebrows. "I dunno," he said cheerfully. "You'd have to take that up with the board. But whatever they want, I'm sure you'll do great!"

Spock nodded once, and the human took that as a dismissal, walking off from the dorms whistling a mellow tune. Spock stared at his back as he left.

Finally he wrenched his wandering mind back to the present, closing the door and leaning against the cool metal. He was only nineteen! He wasn't supposed to teach! Half the other cadets were older than him, might not be pleased, might cry foul or favoritism. He threaded his fingers together, squeezing them until his knuckles turned white from lack of blood.

What would Jim have done?

Spock blinked, shook his head. That thought was illogical, unprecedented, and most of all, unwanted. It didn't matter what Jim would have done because Jim wasn't here and wasn't planning on talking to him in the next century, no matter how ridiculously he'd reacted and how much it pained Spock to remember that day when he lost one of the most important people in his life.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he slipped into his cadet uniform and exited his quarters, ignoring the pointed stares of his fellow students as he made his way to the executive board room, where he respectfully accepted their proposition for the next academic year and until he chose to leave. He was assigned to the linguistics department, teaching Vulcan to those who wished to enhance their language studies.

_"What does this one mean?"_

_"_T'hy'la. _It means brother, friend, or-" He hesitated. "Lover."_

"It is a logical choice," Spock agreed, the childish voices of his past echoing in his mind. "I will assist in this endeavor to the best of my abilities."

* * *

"Umph!"

"C'mon, genius boy, can't you even throw a punch? Hmm? Or is your brain too big for your body, huh, dickface?"

Jim growled angrily and ducked under the sloppy kick, bringing up his clenched fist into his attacker's groin. The man went down, clutching his injured privates, a strange expression on his face. Jim took great pleasure in breaking his nose with one swift jab from his fist. Blood gushed down his attacker's face, staining his shirt, and he curled into a ball, whimpering.

"Next?" Jim said, grinning. God, it felt so good to get in a good, rough-and-tumble fight. Even now, as the patrons of the bar stared at him, their glasses frozen half-way to their lips, he couldn't help but revel in the attention. The numerous bruises he'd accumulated shone darkly in the dim lights, blood streaking his face and clothes. He had a feeling that if Bones had been there, he'd be throwing a fit.

_Wonder how he's doing... didn't even say good-bye when I left. Huh._

"That's enough!"

Jim whirled around, staggering to catch his balance. One of his victims - he had, of course, instigated the fight - was a foreigner (meaning an alien) who spoke in a higher octave than humans, so at one point it had screeched at Jim and probably damaged his eardrums. Did he care, though? Not terribly. There wasn't much medicine couldn't cure these days.

"I've had enough of your fighting, Kirk," the barkeep snarled, his moustache bristling above his puffy lip. Jim raised a brow in question. The fat little man shook in his fury, face turning red. "Get the fuck out of here! Take your ass and leave. I'm losin' business 'cause of you! You're lucky I don't call the fucking cops!"

Jim smirked, spat a globule of blood and saliva onto the grubby floors just to be difficult, and sauntered out, turning his dizzy wobbling into a limp worthy of a seasoned soldier. Even as the door closed on his rear, the cool Iowa morning biting at his exposed flesh, he sighed and winced, probing at his wounds. He was going to have a black eye, no doubt... probably bruised a few ribs, pulled a muscle in his leg, and his ears were another story entirely...

Something tapped his shoulder and he jerked around, fists aloft, eyes narrowed. The man held up his hands, showing how unthreatening he really was, a small, frail-looking elderly man with thick coke-bottle lenses (which must have been an antique, because anyone with any sense just got the corrective surgery) and a rather large nose. He laughed quietly at Jim's fierce expression.

"I see you certainly know your way around a fist fight, young man," he said. His voice sounded as old as he looked; it was dry, crackling, prone to softness. Jim had to strain to catch what he said next. "How would you like a job?"

"What?"

"My last bouncer left, but you're young, you're fit. I'm sure you'd do great," the man continued cheerfully, ignoring the younger man's incredulous expression. "You'd have to double as a barkeeper, but there's nothing wrong with knowing your way around the booze, huh?"

"I haven't finished school. I'm underage. I have no training whatsoever. Hell, I'd end up getting in more fights than the people drinking!" Jim's voice steadily climbed, reaching near hysterical levels, but the man was not dissuaded. He took a step forward, putting his hand on Jim's shoulder again, but Jim knocked it away before it could meet the tender muscle. He'd gone years without contact save for one person, and that one person was no longer around, so he didn't like to be touched.

"Son," the man said, his voice painfully honest, "if you keep going at this rate, you'll end up dead or in jail. You've got a brain, no sense wasting that in every crummy bar from here to California, eh?" He smiled, and Jim was reminded of another cautious smile, of pointed ears and fond nights staying up late and just talking without expecting an answer. He shook his head fiercely, dislodging the pale, stoic face that flashed in his mind's eye.

"Ah... sure. I guess. Where's your bar?" Jim didn't want to suddenly get a job far away from his house. It was full of memories - good and bad. With the sound of glass shattering in his mind, he nodded and listened carefully, taking note of the location of his employer's establishment. It wasn't far, at all. That was nice.

Jim left the man with a promise to show up the next day and kicked his newly-purchased bike to life, revving the engine once and tearing off for his house, spitting dirt and pebbles in his wake.

Why did he care? he wondered. He had enough money. The police might have taken the furniture, but the floorboards had always been loose, and not to mention his mother's bank account was now in his name. Money wasn't it. Hell, if he wanted, he could've just lived a hermit's life 'til he died. It wouldn't have mattered.

But a job... with a complete stranger, nonetheless. It added some element of danger to it all, the way he'd been seeking danger since his feet hit Terra and the feeling of guilt had grown steadily until he wanted to pound his head into a wall. Danger distracted him from the feeling that he'd screwed up again no matter how much his mind protested to the contrary, like he'd done as a child on Earth, a child on Vulcan. The only way he could forget was to come inches away from death, be it by a vehicle (traffic chicken was not a smart thing to do no matter how shitty he felt, he'd learned) or by a hand.

Work could help. And he'd be a bouncer, so there'd always be fights just around the corner. And he'd get free booze, so that was also a plus. Inhibitions were lowered when alcohol was introduced.

So Jim brooded, sitting on the floor of his old room, a jacket balled up serving as his pillow as he stared out the broken window and wondered where it all was going.

* * *

"God, Len, if you're just going to drink, then get out!" Katie screamed, tears streaming down her face. They'd been married three years, three glorious, wonderful years, but it had started going down the tubes when her husband steadily began taking on more responsibilities at the hospital, resulting in less time for his family, and when he bothered to show up for anything anymore, it was invariably with a bottle in hand.

Dr. McCoy gazed at her with bloodshot eyes, then peered around her. Leaning out of her bedroom was a young girl, about three, big blue eyes filled with confusion. How she'd gotten out of her bed (they'd put up bars so she wouldn't roll off) was a mystery, but she was there, all chubby cheeks and pink pyjamas and wobbling lower lips.

"Fine," he growled softly, slamming the bottle down on the table so hard it shattered. "Fine!" He stalked past his daughter, his little Jo-Jo, his eyes glittering. He kicked the door open, the flimsy wood shattering, yanking open the dresser and closet, stuffing his belongings into a duffel bag that he slung over his shoulder. Without stopping to say good-bye to the child staring at him, he brushed past his furious wife and stomped into the yard.

Something collided with the back of his head and he whirled around, fury in every tense line of his body. Laying forlornly on the grass was his medical kit, a little black bag with all his personal instruments, the ones he treasured as a link to the father he lost far too early.

"Take all your shit, Leonard McCoy, and don't you ever come back!"

Katie stood in the doorway of their home, outline glowing from the kitchen lights that illuminated her. She stood, hunched, hands clenched into fists, Joanna clutching her pant leg, and slammed the door so loud the sound echoed down the road.

Bones gritted his teeth, picked up the bag, and didn't look back.

* * *

Spock surveyed his work with a critical eye, gauging its perfection and every line of code that made up the program. It was essential that it work correctly, for its purpose was one this facility severely needed help with. With all the technician's eyes on him, he inserted the data chip and pressed the button to start the program. Computers clicked and whirred; cadets peered at the screens.

"All systems are go."

"Good. I request bi-hourly reports. Send in the first cadet team."

Hands clasped behind his back, face blank, Spock watched through the one-way viewscreen as first one, then two, and eventually fourteen teams - all respectable, all filled with brilliant minds ready for the world beyond a classroom - failed. The test was not one meant to be passed. Though this was a revised edition (his first had several glitches, which, while remaining unexploited, had seemed glaringly obvious to him) it never ceased to arouse Spock's curiosity as he watched the groups fall.

Some did so gracefully. The captain accepted their fate, gripping the command chair with white knuckled hands, jaw clenched, as they dove for the Klingon ships and sacrificed themselves for the stranded escort.

Some... did not.

As was the case now. After a successful relaunch, Spock had recorded his findings on the new version of the test and was on his way back to the quarters he'd been relocated to after accepting the teaching position. He had just entered the building he was rooming in when a cool hand wrapped around his bicep and yanked him backwards. Never one for physical contact (a flash of blue, a cheeky grin, blond hair - all said otherwise), he twisted out of the grip and turned.

His accoster was male, tall for his age, with dark hair and cold blue eyes. Spock recognized him immediately. This was the captain of one of the groups who had failed in a most spectacular manner, full of blustering and swearing and pointed fingers. Mitchell, Gary, of average academic interest and an unpredictable temper. Who, as of right now, was steaming mad.

"What the fuck kind of test was that?" he snapped without preamble.

Spock simply shifted the stack of PADDs he was holding and looked at him. There was nothing in his dark eyes to betray his thoughts; that this was especially pathetic, even for a human. The height advantage the half-Vulcan held only seemed to intimidate Mitchell even more, and he flinched away before taking a deep breath and steadying himself.

"Answer me!"

"The _Kobayashi Maru_is a test designed for a captain and crew to face death. Not all situations result in no lives lost, Cadet. There may arise a situation in which you will need to make a difficult choice: to save lives or to endager billions more, as you faced in the chamber today. If you cannot come to that conclusion in a mere simulation, then there is no adequate reason for you to become a captain," Spock said coolly.

Mitchell was shaking with the absolute rage he felt, but he did not act on it. He gave a short, sharp bow and hissed, "Your own kind abandoned you and now you're setting us all up to fail. I hope you're pleased with yourself."

He stalked away before Spock could respond to the cutting remark, but it did not affect him until much later. He remembered a phrase Jim had once used to describe Amanda's verbal rebukes; caramel with fish hooks. The words were sweet at first, then they stuck in you and couldn't be removed. Not that the situation was remotely the same, of course; the remark had been less than sweet and they certainly didn't bother him.

Not in the least. He was a Vulcan, after all, and he had to show these humans a sophisticated, cool exterior, much as his inner human child want to crawl back to Jim and beg for forgiveness, even as his mind knew he was not at fault. Jim had overreacted. Thusly, it was his duty to instigate an apology.

Of course, he'd willingly left him, his supposed best friend - _t'hy'la _- over a difference of opinions. A violent one, true, but a difference nonetheless.

Spock lay awake on his cot and felt dangerously close to tears, the first he'd come close to since the day he had realized Jim was not coming back and he was alone, more alone than he'd been in years.

* * *

**Spock - 23 Jim - 22**

The low rumble of voices merged into a swell of white noise, grating harshly against Jim's nerves. He stared moodily out from under his fringe, glaring at any person brave enough to even consider approaching him. The first few had learned, rather quickly, that they were to get their drinks and go. Jim wanted no part in their celebration; hell, he could've lived without them coming here entirely.

There were a few exceptions, however, and this woman was obviously one of them. Ignoring Jim's poisonous glare, she sauntered over, swinging her hips in a way that drew stares from male, female, and alien alike. Though she didn't seem to notice the trail of drool following her, Jim noted sourly. Instead of smiling and asking politely what she wanted, however, he dug a rag out of his apron and began furiously scrubbing the already-pristine counter.

"Can I have two Budweiser classics, a pint of Andorian ale, and... a Slusho mix? Oh, and a shot of Jack, please." She flashed him a smile full of white, even teeth, a dramatic contrast to her dark skin. Jim grunted and took a step back, mixing the order with a general air of viciousness.

"So, how long've you been working here?" she called. He ignored her and set the glasses down on the counter, eyeing the foam dripping off the beers with distaste. He'd just cleaned that, dammit...

"Strong and silent, huh?" she muttered, more to herself. "That's alright. Thanks, barkeep." She shrugged, a delicate lift of one shoulder, and turned. Jim tried to resist the urge to stare at her ass as she walked away, but the curve of her leg and the tight cut of her dress left little to the imagination. Jim shook his head, blinking furiously, and resumed wiping the counter with no intent to clean in mind.

That was, until he'd realized that she hadn't paid for her drinks. Sighing heavily, he vaulted effortlessly over the top, sliding off and striding purposefully in the general direction of the woman who'd just been there moments ago. Ducking through the waving limbs and scrunching his nose at the pervasive smell of sweat, he glanced back and forth until he'd located her.

She was sitting off in a corner, her shot untouched before her and the rest of the drinks mysteriously gone, watching the crowd dance to the loud, irritating music. He strolled up to her, hands in his pockets, and shouted over the din, "Sorry, miss, but you didn't pay!"

Her eyes flicked up to meet his briefly and she nodded in understanding, pulling out a weather-beaten bill and holding it out for him to take, which he did, snapping his arm out and stuffing it into his pocket without offering to get her change. She didn't seem bothered by it at all, though, and returned to watching the teeming lump of humans bounce out of tempo with the shrieking that passed for singing.

"I'm going to need your name," he said, just as loudly.

"Uhura."

"Uhura what?"

"Just Uhura. I'm sorry, I just had someo- something on my mind."

Jim snorted, crossing his arms impatiently. "Listen, lady, if you don't give me your full name, I'm blacklisting you from all the bars in the state. As it is, you're not coming back here any time soon." There was a malignant gleam in his eye as the words passed between them. "Now, full name, so we can get your ID and make sure you don't go stealing any time soon."

There it was: a flash of temper. Jim felt something twist in his chest, a feeling he relished. After living with - well, _them _- for so long, it never failed to excite him when people got angry at him, Bones notwithstanding.

But as soon as the spark flared in her dark brown eyes, it was gone, and her face had smoothed to calm acceptance. She knocked back her shot, sighing the tiniest bit as the alcohol seeped into her system. Jim frowned; took a step closer. Uhura glanced back up at him as if to say, What? Can't you see I'm busy?

"I see that Starfleet arrogance doesn't just extend to the captains anymore," Jim deadpanned before he could stop himself. He nearly bit his tongue in two as she slammed her glass back on the table and shot to her feet. Even with her thick heels on, she barely reached Jim's chin, and the glare she gave him could have killed a lesser man.

"I didn't steal them," she said hotly, her cheeks flushing in the pulsing laser-light. "I paid for them, just a little later than normal. And I apologized! Why don't you take that stick out of your ass and stop treating us like scum?"

"I'll stop when you start to deserve it!"

Jim was about to finish the argument with one last scathing remark - something pertaining to her obvious inability to pass without wearing clothes that could have fit a child better - when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Well, tapped wasn't the right way to put it - more like someone clapped especially meaty paws on his shoulders and it was only by some miracle that he was still standing.

"This kid botherin' ya, Uhura?" Jim peered over his shoulder at the person whose hand currently was cutting of Jim's circulation to his arm. He had dull eyes, fogged by the drinks he'd obviously been imbibing in since early evening, a short crew cut, and, of course, bulging muscles under the dark red of the cadet uniform.

A cocky smile slid onto his face and he turned, patting the hand of the larger cadet. "It's alright," Jim said, smirking. "Nothing to worry your pretty little head over. Why don't you just get back to grinding and trying to get in someone's pants, okay?"

That, apparently, wasn't the right thing to say. The cadet's face flushed beet red right up to the roots of his hair and he took a drunken swing at Jim, who was able to duck in time and step out of his range. Of course, that didn't stop him from staggering forward, lashing out with his fists in every possible direction.

Jim had been in much worse situations, and besides, the cadet was slower than any other person he'd gotten in a fight with. Of course, that was hardly fair to judge against, since he'd either fought those who weren't drunk or - well. Slim, burning fingers clamped around his wrist, around his shoulder, around his throat. The sensations disappeared when a foot connected with Jim's midsection, forcing the wind from his lungs and sending him to his knees.

"Had enough, huh?" the cadet sniggered.

Jim drew in a shaky breath through clenched teeth and grinned. Adrenaline was pounding through his veins, sending surges of energy out into the farthest regions of his limbs, and faster than the cadet could laugh again, Jim had slammed his head into the man's chest, tucking himself into a roll and coming up with one fist swinging directly into the man's nose. It shattered with a resounding crunch and the cadet dropped to the ground, whimpering.

"Had enough, cupcake?" Jim mocked. "Is that all your hand to hand is? Damn, I'm surprised they even let you pass."

He was so busy gloating he missed the devilish half-smile the newly dubbed Cupcake was able to form. Then, quite abruptly, the world was tipping to the left. Jim's head met the sticky, cold floor, the sound of shattering glass in his ears and the stench of beer rank in his nose. Something sharp was making contact with his back, his stomach, his legs. The sharp things avoided his head, though, and he was slightly thankful, because he couldn't have dealt with anything more than the fuzzy feeling he was experiencing now.

"Everyone who's a Starfleet cadet, get out this instant!"

Jim looked up at the vague impression of a person standing over him, and gratefully accepted the hand that was offered. This new man slung Jim's arm around his shoulders, gently helping him wobble to a seat. Jim sat down slowly, wincing. Those sharp taps now exploded into aching bruises all along his spine, and he could feel blood trickling down the back of his neck.

"Thanks," Jim said hoarsely, grabbing a handful of napkins and pressing them to the lacerations on his scalp. Almost instantly they were soaked, but Jim knew from experience that head wounds bled plenty, and as long as it stopped eventually, he'd be fine. He hoped. "I didn't see them sneaking up and when they hit me with that bottle-"

Jim's mouth stopped mid-sentence, his vision snapping back into focus in time for Christopher Pike to lean over with a wet rag in his hands. Jim instantly slapped the offered help away, his surly glare burning into the table.

"What the hell do you want?" Jim finally asked. "I've told you plenty of times-"

"That's not what I'm here for," Pike said, cutting him off. His eyes were flicking over his face, absorbing every detail, marveling at how similar this impudent youth was to his father, George Kirk. How that man must be rolling in his grave to see his son beaten from behind by the very force he joined to allow his family a better life... it was enough to send Pike into fits of rage. He was going to be having some words with the cadets' superior officers, no doubt about that.

Jim snorted, a wince crossing his features as the action pulled the swollen flesh taut.

"Yeah, and I'm gonna sprout pointy ears and and start babbling about logic." Rolling his eyes, dabbing gently at the cut with a fresh wad of napkins, he was silent for a moment until he hit an especially sore spot and groaned, low and long. "Just get to the point," he finished tiredly.

"I'm here because a class of freshmen - soon to be sophomores ankle-deep in detention - 'borrowed' a transport and came here. It had nothing to do with you, Jim." He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the young man, looking forlornly at the table. He wore his emotions on his sleeve, Jim did, a bloody wonder after living with the stoic Vulcans for the better part of a decade. It almost looked like... he wanted to talk to Pike.

"Is there something you wanted to, ah, tell me, Jim?" Pike said gently, laying his hand on the man's shoulder. Jim shrugged it off effortlessly, avoiding Pike's inquiring gaze.

"No."

"You know," Pike said wistfully, "today's the anniversary of your father's death. I'm surprised you're not out doing something to honor his memory."

This earned him a rusty chuckle, and Pike cocked his head, looking at Jim, who was wheezing pitifully. It was almost like he found that funny... but Jim wouldn't disrespect his father like that, right? George Kirk died to ensure Jim could live. His son wouldn't be so... crass.

"That's a good one," Jim choked out, blinking tears of pain and mirth out of his eyes. "Yeah, right." He scrunched up his nose, took a deep breath, and spat into a napkin, dislodging nothing to prove he'd been seriously injured. He'd hurt tomorrow, obviously; but he wasn't dying any time soon.

"Your father died to save you and your mother," Pike growled, eyes narrowed. He'd leaned forward without realizing it, and his hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists in his lap.

"My father died and left my mother to a shitty job off-planet, leaving her shitty boyfriend to knock the kids around, leaving us to a shitty life and a shitty future," Jim declared, swaying slightly. "I've got nothing to be thankful for, especially to him." _And thanks for the birthday wish, too._

The smell of desert in the air... a static current making his hair stand on end... a little child, dark of hair and eye, picking him up and running, dodging the lightning that struck the ground around them... a nightmare, familiar eyes, familiar hair, a shock - gone. Then darkness, and peace.

"Well," Jim breathed, so softly Pike almost missed it, "maybe one thing. Too bad it didn't last."

Then they were back to an awkward silence. There had been no other patrons in the bar besides the miscreant cadets, and Jim had long since been given free reign of the establishment. His employer was getting on in years, and it was small enough that one barkeep was plenty. So the pair sat as stars trickled past, the earth going about its slow return to morn.

"He wished on a star for me, you know," Jim blurted at half past one. "I didn't. Not 'til later. It was a mental thing. I saw it. He was really little, really lonely. I wonder if it was destiny?"

"I think you've lost a bit of blood." Pike stood, hooking one hand under Jim's elbow, leading the swaying man outside to his vehicle. It started with a whirr, hovering above the ground with a soft puff of air. The sleek lines of the craft shone in the starlight, though admiration was a bit beyond Jim's mental capabilities at the moment. He settled for giggling drunkenly and passing out in the back seat.

Pike stepped on the gas, easing the vehicle forward into a burst of speed for the nearest hospital, the corn stalks swaying slightly as he sped past them. Jim remained unconscious, though the bleeding had long since clotted. Pike figured he was more tired than he let on. Probably sleeping the excitement of the evening off, he decided. Not everyday you survived a beating like that and lived to tell.

The bar, unfortunately, was located in the exact center of nowhere, so more hours passed wandering the countryside than Pike would have preferred, but just as the sun was peeking over the horizon he pulled in to the parking lot, grabbing Jim in a standard fireman's carry. Grunting with the effort necessary (and wondering when he had stopped being quite so sprightly), he staggered in through the front doors, capturing the immediate attention of the secretary.

She beckoned a nurse over, who had thoughtfully brought along a gurney, and he set Jim down with a hiss. Pike was then forced to watch as the nurse wheeled the young man off, speaking technical jargon under her breath the entire length of the hall. The secretary shot him a sympathetic look, then promptly handed him a stack of paperwork that made his captain's logs look like a child's first words.

It was only an hour later they allowed Pike to visit Jim, who was wrapped in bandages from head to foot. An IV stuck out of his arm, hazy fluid siphoning downwards. Pike could only assume it was some kind of drug, because it was eliciting a steady stream of mumbles from the man passed out on the bed.

"-couldn't believe - just watch - show you - better than you - pointy eared - Spock! - no more, please..." He trailed off with a whimper.

"Jim?"

His eyes flew open, panicked, but Pike could see lucidity lurking in his blue gaze, somewhere. Jim latched on to Pike's wrist, eyes burning, and refused to let go even as Pike gently tried to remove his fingers. That was going to leave an impression. Or a bruise.

"What was he like?" Jim murmured, settling back without releasing his captive. "Dad, I mean."

"A pleasure to know," Pike responded instantly. A soft smile eased the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, as he drifted backwards in time, remembering his years with George fondly. "Very intelligent. And brave. He was captain of the _Kelvin _for fifteen minutes and he saved eight hundred people, did you know that?"

Jim sighed. The corners of his lips might have twitched upwards, but that could have just been the flickering quality of the lights.

"Hate Starfleet..." Jim breathed, sinking back into the pillows even further. "Took Dad. Might as well've took Mom. Took Spock. Took Sam, 'n Frank, 'n Mom eventually... no. No. Not Starfleet. Just... a Vulcan... but not..."

The painkillers were obviously meddling with his mind, and Pike almost felt as if he were intruding as Jim's thoughts spilled from his lips unchecked. But curiosity held him to his seat.

Jim's stranglehold on his wrist didn't help matters.

"Space... I've always wanted to go there..." Jim tilted his head upwards, as if to indicate the mottled ceiling as the black abyss he so sought. Pike understood just as readily, though, and nodded. "So much to see. So much to do. New places, new people, a crew... but Starfleet." He made a sarcastic-sounding noise, as if it explained his dilemma.

"You could join, you know," Pike said, caution keeping him from pulling the contract out the very instant.

"No. Argument. Can't go back. Hypocrite." A small sigh. "Spock..."

"Spock? The Vulcan?" Pike grinned, running his free hand through his hair. "He teaches there, now. Unless you took Vulcan as a language, I doubt you'd see him." Spock... he was a bit of an enigma. Never one for meetings, not on his crew, so Pike didn't see him much. Of course, that didn't stop him from dropping by and chatting with him, slowly worming his way into the man's good graces. He'd actually been planning to ask Spock to join his crew, this year. No use wasting such a scientific brain behind a desk.

"No. Dishonest. Not supposed to lie." Jim's eyes fluttered closed, and his breathing was beginning to edge towards the deep and steady. His grip loosened a fraction, but Pike hardly noticed.

It wasn't like he was advocating lying, or hypocrisy. But, damn it all, Jim was a genius. To go anywhere but a captain's seat was a waste of his talent and his mind. He'd be stuck back in that bar, watching as life passed him by, not doing a damn thing until it was too late. And by then, it wouldn't matter, because he'd be old, and the technology the world had for medicine could only go so far.

"Why don't you join Starfleet?" Pike tried again.

"No..." It was far weaker than before, true; the drugs were fighting against Jim's control, Jim's will to stay awake. It wouldn't be much longer before he was knocked completely unconscious once more.

"Jim. You are an adult, and free to make your own decisions." Pike sighed, his voice taking on a serious note. "But just listen to what I have to say.

"There's a lot this world has to offer, Jim, but you won't find anything like what you found on Vulcan. That's what you're looking for, isn't it? That feeling you had, of being part of something, of feeling challenged every day no matter what life threw at you?"

Jim nodded.

"I miss him..."

"You're not going to find that here, Jim. Not in some bar, not at that old house you've been living in. Not here. Starfleet can give you that, Jim. It can take you to the stars and beyond, if you let it. But you have to make that choice. You're only human. You make mistakes. You can apologize to Spock. It may take some time, Jim, but you could have what you had before."

Pike opened his mouth to continue his impassioned speech, but Jim began snoring lightly, his eyelids fluttering as he entered sleep almost instantly. Pike smiled, peeling limp fingers off his wrist, and patted Jim's head, stuffing his hands in his pockets and wandering out of the room. He'd come back later, after Jim had had some time to recover. And possibly think on his offer.

Though he had probably been asleep through the whole thing. Pike shrugged. It wasn't his job to preach, true, but he felt this was a much more... unusual case than normal. He'd seen Jim's aptitude tests; Jim was smarter than every cadet they currently enrolled at the base in California. Hell, he was on par with Spock, the brightest Vulcan of his age. That alone made him a worthy recipient of Starfleet's attention.

But it was more than that. George Kirk had been his friend throughout their days at the academy together; they'd eaten, breathed, and drank (often of the alcoholic variety) space flight. Then George had been killed, his family torn to shreds.

Pike had found Jim ten years later, a thin, dirty, scared little boy, begging to be taken off-planet. That tore at his heart; he knew nothing would separate Winona from her children, no matter how hard life had to be. He had personally led the investigation into the murder of the remnants of the Kirk family, and had felt the frustration keenly as it yielded no results.

If anything, Pike decided, at least Jim would be safe.

* * *

Jim lay listlessly on the hospital bed, thoughts spinning like fragile spiderwebs across his mind. So many possibilities, so many bridges burned. He wanted something he had vehemently hated, he wanted to apologize for something his head didn't think he'd done wrong. He'd been in the hospital often enough to realize that he was muddled by the drugs, but because of his allergies, they had to give him an off-brand, lowering both the potency and raising the idiotic inability to keep what he thought what he thought and not what he said. Though Pike had done enough talking for both of them, his odd comment notwithstanding.

Contrary to Pike's belief, he had heard every word. And they'd stuck, too, like knives lodged into his brain, refusing to leave and aching abominably any time he dared to go near them. But now he was at a crossroad.

On the one hand, he could shoot down Pike's offer. Go on being a bartender. Inherit the bar the old man kept. Serve idiots and keep out the ruffians until his body gave out and he found another little lost boy to work, legal or not. Continue on in this rut that had captured his life.

Or... he could go back on his word. Go back on the very argument that had split him from his first true friend. Go to Starfleet.

Go to the stars.

Jim sighed, the breath hissing between his teeth.

Honestly, the decision had been made as soon as Pike had left. He'd known it would come to this. And now... now he just had to figure out what to say.

What to say to Spock... if they saw each other. They might, they might not. Hell, for all he knew, Spock was on the other side of the goddamn universe.

Well. He'd cross that road when he was running that stop sign.

For now, though, he had to figure out what to say to Pike when he came back. Jim knew he'd be coming back; the man practically clung to him during his entire speech. Or at least that's what his brain told him. Reality often said things differently than the mind.

_Alright, Pike. So, say I do want to join... not that I do, but what would I do now..._

---

**Notes:**

Well. This is by far my longest chapter; please don't expect another one, because I don't think my fingers can take it... ^^ Well. I'd like to dedicate this to MegKevin, whose birthday is today! Congrats, I hope you like your present! ^_^

I have a poll up on my profile for my next story, because, sadly, this one will eventually have to end. Terrible, I know. And if any of you have an idea, or a challenge... let me know, I'm always open to ideas! (Which is why there's so many choices...) You'll notice there aren't any ST choices, due to the fact I'll be all Trekked out for a while. (Unless... naw.) Also, why did the last chapter have the most reviews and yet the least amount of hits? You confuse me, readers...

Thanks to all the rest who've reviewed! I appreciate your feedback and ideas (some of which are quite nice indeed, which I may be using... Smoothie42, I'm looking at you here) and look forward to how you like it in the future.

Enough with the author's note already! So peace out and have a nice end of the month!


	17. seventeen

Jim fell in to a restless doze, wiling the hours away in a state of half-consciousness. He twisted under the thin cotton sheets, occasionally removing one hand to pluck at the IV line in an irritated fashion. He only had to stay the night, thank goodness. As he woke the next morning, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he considered the decision he had made the day previous.

He was joining Starfleet. Shit, _Starfleet._

The door slid open with a faint whoosh and Pike poked his head in. He gave Jim a quick once-over, noting how the young man seemed a little more relaxed than he had looked the day before. Granted, of course, Jim had been in serious pain yesterday, so it probably wasn't the most accurate template to judge from.

"Did you think about what I said?" Pike asked lightly, stepping in with the dignity and grace of someone who has been turned down more times than he could count but was trying one last time with little expectancy for a good result. In his hands was a bundle of clothes, which he patiently set down at the foot of the bed. Jim fisted his hands in the thin hospital sheets, not meeting his eyes. After a few minutes of making unconcerned noises, Jim mumbled something into his chest.

"Sorry, I couldn't quite catch that. Old ears, you know." Pike grinned. "Run that by me one more time?"

"I said fine," Jim snapped. "Say I do want to join Starfleet. What am I supposed to do now?"

Pike chuckled, toying with the hem of his civilian shirt. It was rather gaudy, true; bright red with enormous flowers of a hideous shade of orange and purple splattered across like a child's paint set gone wild. Jim almost closed his eyes and changed his mind right then. Who in their right mind would wear such a thing?

"All you have to do is get up."

Jim was mentally debating whether it would be worth it to jump out of the window to escape the horrid consequences of _knowing_ someone willing to wear paint-vomit on a shirt when Pike spoke. He started, blinking, and cocked his head. "Why?"

"Because in about-" he checked his chronometer, tapping it to make sure the time was correct "-an hour the shuttle leaves for San Fran, and if you're really gonna be Starfleet, you've gotta catch it." He nodded in a self-important fashion and stood up straight, saying primly, "Of course, I'm a captain, so I could miss it if I really wanted to, but as a cadet, that'd put you on bad footing with the Board."

Jim rolled his eyes after a moment and heaved a heavy sigh. "Fine," he said in an aggravated tone. "I guess I'll just have to stay here..." He lifted himself off the bed for a moment so he could lay on his side and peeked out the corner of his eye. "The doctors did mention a concussion on my chart..." Jim trailed off, unable to contain the snickers that escaped as he took in Pike's stricken face.

"Jim!"

"Relax, will you? I said I'm coming. I won't go back on my word." Even as the words crossed his lips, he flinched. There were too many memories too painful to think about associated with promises. But he was getting the hang of shaking off thoughts of - him - and moving on. So he swung his legs over the side of the bed, forcing himself to his feet.

"You sure you're alright?" Pike asked seriously, taking a quick step over to Jim and holding out one hesitant hand. Jim swatted it away, though, a frown creasing his face. Pike withdrew, hands aloft, and when he saw Jim grabbing the stack of clothes he'd brought along he beat a hasty retreat. It didn't escape him that Jim hadn't answered his question.

Jim eyed the soft red cadet's tunic with distaste. So instead he slipped on the red pants and the black undershirt, wincing slightly as the fabric dragged across his bruised skin. He wadded up the unused shirt and tossed it into a corner, taking a deep breath, feeling for any areas that hurt more than they should. He hadn't felt if any ribs had been broken, but they had been once, and after they'd healed... incorrectly, any injury could set them off.

But, luckily for him, they were just fine. He could take a nice, deep breath without feeling any stabbing pains whatsoever. So he staggered over to the door, smacked the keypad in a way vaguely reminiscent of man trying for sparks that first cold, dreary night, and happened upon Pike leaning down with his ear pressed against the door. The older man straightened, cleared his throat loudly, and started off.

"I see you're not wearing your full uniform," Pike commented as he signed the last PADD with a flourish. Jim shrugged nonchalantly and watched the nurse on duty try to get Pike's number. She batted heavily made-up eyes at him, a low, throaty giggle rumbling from her chest every few seconds. Pike was clearly very uncomfortable, but he politely turned her down and sped out of the hospital as fast as he could without sprinting.

"Red just doesn't flatter my figure," Jim drawled, watching Pike glance behind him for the fourth time as they made their way to Pike's vehicle. "I much prefer the black."

"That'll earn you demerits, Kirk," Pike pointed out, inserting the key into the ignition as Jim hopped in the passenger seat, immediately propping his feet up on the dash and falling into a lazy slouch. "That too." He nodded to Jim's sprawl.

"I don't give two shits," Jim replied amicably.

"You'll be doing grunt work for years."

"That's okay."

"You'll be held back a year. You won't graduate in four."

"You're right. I'll do it in three."

Pike glanced over sharply at the young man, who grinned cheekily. Jim's blue eyes positively sparkled with mirth; it was painfully obvious that he'd been dying a little each day since the split from his family - well, his other family. To compare this lanky male with the dead-eyed bartender he'd met mere days ago was a joke. A small smile replaced the thin line his lips had become and he fastened his eyes once more to the road ahead.

It wasn't long before they arrived at their destination. Slowly the cornfields had ebbed, fading away to reveal endless reams of delicate grass, speckled with bursts of color as wildflowers grew in small, protective clumps. This, too, ended quickly, replaced with a sprawling shipyard. A high fence blocked the entire operation in, as transports took off in blasts of dust and workers conferred over blueprints.

The area had been used, not too long ago, to build the newest flagship of Starfleet: the USS _Enterprise_, model NCC-1701. Being finished, however, and now awaiting the next stages of design (which was just programming the entire thing to work and not explode at the least expected moment, as some older models were wont to do), the space was just a little center of transportation activity.

Pike pulled in to a locking center, climbed out, and attached the specifically designed anti-theft brake pads onto the sides of the vehicle. It sank to the ground like a stone, and Jim almost tripped as he slid out. Righting himself, swiping at nonexistent dirt on his shirt, he followed behind Pike, silent as a wraith.

"This is where I'll leave you, then," Pike said quietly as he came to a halt in front of the last transport. Noise drifted to Jim's ears, and he wrinkled his nose. If there was one thing he appreciated on Vulcan, it had been the quiet. There was no need for such volume, honestly.

A horrified thought flashed in his mind: he sounded exactly like_ them_. Belittling the humans for doing what was only natural for their age. Speechless at the possible implications (_do I always think of them as idiots? Is it _his _fault? Damn, no wonder that Uhura chick said I had a stick up my ass. I was borrowing theirs!_) he hardly registered as he put one foot in front of the other, the soft metal pings from his shoes on the ramp like gongs ringing in his ears.

It was only after smacking his head into a low-hanging support strut - "Ow!" he muttered, rubbing at his sore forehead, wondering if this could possibly have detrimental effects on his already scrambled mind - did he decide that whatever had been done was done and he shouldn't concern himself with it any longer. Somewhat satisfied but still slightly on edge, he tossed a flippant greeting to the bruised cadet that had accosted him, winked suggestively at Uhura (who promptly scowled and looked away), and plopped his rear in one of two open seats.

He buckled himself in and let his head loll on his shoulders. Sleep was threatening to overwhelm him, until shouts from the aft of the transport caught his attention.

"I don't need a doctor, dammit! I am a doctor!"

That sounded vaguely familiar, Jim decided.

"Sir, please sit down and strap yourself in. We're taking off in two minutes."

"I was perfectly safe in that blasted bathroom! No windows!" There was an exasperated sigh, and what sounded like a body dropping into the spot next to him. "I have aviophobia, woman! Don't you know what that means? I'm not sitting down unless you let me back in there!" Jim cracked open one eye to see a man, dark haired, begin to stand.

The pilot, a short, slender woman, promptly slammed him back down.

"You are sitting down here," she growled. "Now strap in! We're taking off!"

The man grumbled under his breath and fumbled for the protective harness. His hands were shaking, Jim noted with interest. Why the hell was this man on the transport to go to Starfleet if he hated flying?

"Just to let you know," the man said gruffly, locking the safety belt into place and turning to behold his seat mate, "I may throw up... on... you..." He trailed off, eyes growing huge. "Jim?"

Jim's eyes snapped open, blue meeting blue, and the younger man let out a laugh that was more sob than chuckle. He threw his arms around the man, who hugged him back just as fiercely, until a shudder separated them. Albeit, the shudder startled them, it was the man who let go of Jim and grasped onto the arms of the seat as if he were about to be wrenched from his place by the slightest jostle.

"Bones! What the hell are you doing here?" Jim whispered, a smile stretching across his face. "Damn, I've missed you so much! I thought you were back in Georgia, though."

McCoy didn't answer, instead frowning so hard the skin creased in between his eyebrows. Sighing heavily, he released his death grip on the armrest and made a quick dive for his back pocket, pulling out a small metal flask. He unscrewed the top, tipping his head back and swallowing a mouthful with a little sigh of relief.

"Bones? You hate flying. Why on Earth are you joining Starfleet?"

Gritting his teeth, McCoy snapped his head to the side and hissed, "I could say the same for you, Jim. What the fuck was going through your obviously empty head when you just took off? Didn't even think about your goddamn doctor, huh? All you cared about was you, Jim, you and how Spock-" Jim flinched the tiniest bit, a detail which didn't escape McCoy in the slightest "-did you this great universe-ending wrong by joining. And now you're going too, huh?"

With every word, Jim had been sinking farther and farther into his seat. For some reason, Bones had the ability to make you feel exactly as stupid as you had probably been acting: he'd been doing it for years on Vulcan, and it appeared time had only concentrated his skills. Guilt gnawed at his insides, deep within his gut. It made Jim feel sick.

"I'm sorry," he said in a small voice. "I was arrogant as hell back then... thought I owned the damn place. Went to a Vulcan school, got top marks, had a friend. He never protested to anything we did as long as it didn't hurt us right off the bat. Guess I thought I'd keep ordering him around, like some kind of toy."

It hurt to say those words; more than anything except maybe the ones he'd ruined his greatest friendship with. They were like fishhooks embedded in his throat, and he yanked at them until they were free. It took a lot of balls to admit you were wrong.

"Don't say it to me," McCoy snapped.

...of course, it also helped when apologizing to the right person.

"I doubt I'll ever see Spock again anyway," Jim said morosely, slumping in his seat and turning away from his irate friend to look out the window. The view stole his breath away; he finally sucked in a lungful of air and promptly murmured, "Wow. Bones, look outside!"

They were surrounded with stars. The burning balls of gas speckled the darkness of space, tantalizing in their appearance, yet daunting in their distance. How could something so beautiful be so out of reach? So brilliant, yet dangerous? So intelligent, yet oblivious?

_I don't think you're talking about the stars any more, Jim._

Bones was saying something. Jim struggled to catch the thread of the conversation, admonishing himself for ignoring his only friend. McCoy took a deep breath, sending one last scathing glare to the blackness, and finished with, "Space is disease and disaster wrapped in silence and darkness. So there."

Jim couldn't help but snort. The transport had made a jump into the upper atmosphere, rising above the clouds of smog over the States to give them one brief glimpse of their soon-to-be workplace.

"Bones, if that's how you're thinking, what the hell are you doing here?"

McCoy sighed heavily and fished out his flask again, taking another deep swallow before answering.

"My ex-wife took the whole damn planet in the divorce," he muttered dejectedly. "I've got nothing left... nothing but my bones." He smiled sardonically, but Jim could see the pain lurking in his eyes. It was obvious that was still a sore subject for him.

"That's okay," Jim said quietly, still staring at the clear star-studded sky around them.

The reunited pair were silent for a few minutes, each taking the opportunity to absorb the latest shocks to their systems. Jim was surprised and pleased that he wouldn't be spending the next three years in total solitude, while Bones was just thankful Jim was under his supervision so the next time he managed to injure himself he'd have a doctor who was actually competent on hand.

"I have a daughter," Bones muttered, breaking the companionable silence. "Joanna."

"Can I see?"

Bones fumbled in his other back pocket (the one minus the alcohol) and pulled out a much-abused photo, holding it lovingly and rubbing his rough thumb over the young girl's face. He held it out to Jim, who took it and looked at it curiously.

It just seemed... weird. Weird that Bones had a little girl he loved. Weird that Bones had a child. Hell, it was weird that his tempermatic friend had been allowed to procreate in the first place. But that didn't change the fact that the girl existed... and she was adorable. Bright blonde curls, dimples, a cheeky grin and eyes to match her father.

She was going to be a stunner when she grew up.

Jim had to stifle a snort at the mental image of Bones beating off the young hopefuls from not-so-little Joanna, whipping out a hypo and frothing at the mouth. He had the feeling that his friend would take the phrase 'over-protective' to an entirely new level concerning his daughter.

_Or are you hoping it's you he spends all this energy on? As he's mentioned, he's not allowed contact with her. Now he's got nothing left._

The irritating voice of reason had made its debut not long after what Jim termed The Fight, and for some reason, it always spoke in the mellow, calm tones of his former brother. As if that didn't make The Fight ache any worse. But it usually pointed out the truths Jim never wanted to hear and forced him to listen.

Often in the way of its predecessor.

Jim shook his head fiercely. "She's cute," he said quietly, handing the wrinkled photo back to McCoy, who stowed it lovingly in his pocket. "It must've been difficult... getting kicked out like that."

McCoy winced slightly, but Jim was too absorbed in the starry sky to notice. He seemed rather enraptured, in fact. No matter how much he had missed the good doctor, his gaze always ended up sliding back to the nearest view-port, his blue eyes going wide as he took it all in. It was almost a childlike fascination, but it didn't fail to amuse Bones.

"Jim," he drawled, "you're definitely gonna be seein' pleny of stars. No need to suction your eyes to the porthole."

The young man chuckled under his breath, turning away from the tantalizing view to behold McCoy, smirking. Jim gave him a gentle shove, which Bones replied to in kind, and soon the pair were pushing each other back and forth, a certain camaraderie in the air. Though they had not been in touch for over three years, it was hard to forget the many good times they had shared.

It was some time later - after the shoving match had subsided, thankfully, ending with Bones threatening to chemically castrate Jim if he didn't stop immediately due to the overwhelming nausea he was beginning to feel - that Bones seemed to remember Jim's comment and amend it.

"I didn't get kicked out," he said quietly. Jim was mostly unconscious anyway, the hard night finally taking its toll. He spoke to Jim's shoulder, and he was only doing so because he wanted to straighten the kid out, make sure he knew it was McCoy's choice to leave. It wasn't his fault he didn't know the circumstances.

Or so he told himself. Part of him was still back in Georgia, sipping a mint julep, lazing around on a hot Sunday afternoon with Katie never far away, watching his little girl squeal in delight as she ran around the backyard. Part of him still loved her, and always would, and he even now he didn't want the blame falling on her.

"I left." Bones sighed miserably and took another heavy swig from the little container, eyeballing it sadly as the last of its contents washed into his stomach. "I'm a goddamn alcoholic, and I left, and she kicked me out, because she doesn't want me messin' with Jo's head. As if." He snorted.

"'S not all my fault," he added, keeping his eyes glued to that one section of fabric, rumpled and forlornly sticking up, creased in all the wrong places. "She wasn't helpin'. Naggin' all the damn time... always tellin' me to be more involved..." Bones lifted his hands into the air. "I was involved! I took part in Jo's life! Sure, I was at the hospital a lot, but it's my job, dammit! I'm a doctor!"

Jim stirred, rolling over, meeting McCoy's hazy blue eyes with his own sleep-clouded ones. "You can't blame her for your mistakes," he slurred. "Doesn't work. I tried. Blamed Spock for the longest time. But I can't, now. Not with this." He waved one arm in a lazy gesture to encompass the ship and Starfleet, looming ahead in his future. "It'll take time. But you'll understand."

He dropped back to the seat, and began snoring lightly. McCoy sighed, frowning, and followed suit, casting one nervous glance outside to see the stars fading behind a haze of pollutants and refracted sunlight. Breathing the tiniest bit easier for the moment, he let himself relax and fell into the first deep sleep he'd had since he'd walked out on Katie.

It wasn't long before they landed, forced to disembark into the late afternoon sun of San Francisco. Jim managed to pull himself from the nap with incredible swiftness, almost leaving Bones behind as he awoke all at once to the sound of the ramp hitting ground. He had yanked off his restraints and was already in line to disembark before McCoy had begun to rub the sleep from his eyes.

"C'mon," Jim said impatiently, standing on his tip-toes and peering over the shoulders of the cadets in front of him. Bones rolled his eyes (same ol' Jim, just a big kid on the inside, no matter his idiotic tendencies) and staggered over, the taste of old whiskey coating the back of his throat as he knocked shoulders in an irritable sort of way with the kid.

Barely sparing a moment as to why he couldn't stop calling Jim 'kid' - it probably had something to do with the overall maturity level of his friend, which he was ashamed to say couldn't beat that of a small child with ADHD on a planet full of sparkly things - he grunted and said, "So what're we doin' now?"

"Something about the recruits that borrowed a cruiser to party getting punished," Jim speculated. The line they'd unknowingly become a part of (at least in Bones's case) surged forward, the sophomore cadets getting a stern tongue-lashing by Captain Pike - Jim lifted an eyebrow, wondering how he'd gotten here so fast, but he chalked it up to captain's privileges or some latent power he wasn't aware of - as they disembarked.

"Not only have you publicly dishonored Starfleet with your foolish actions, but you sent an innocent man to the hospital-"

Jim snickered quietly as the slightly battered men who'd started the brawl turned their heads and eyeballed him, taking in his slightly swollen face and imagining what they'd love to do to it at the moment. He cheerfully gave them the one-finger salute and watched with instant gratification as their faces darkened to a shade somewhere between maroon and brick red.

"Do you think you could stop antagonizing them for a minute?" Bones said, exasperated, and cuffed Jim, who whined and rubbed the assaulted area.

"I will when they stop deserving it," he said, tone edging towards hurt.

"Oh, please." Bones took another step forward, putting himself in between the furious cadets and his idiot friend. "Just shut up and get registered, all right?"

"-and none of you can expect any privileges for the rest of your cadet career, and you'll be lucky if you're assigned to anything other than shoveling the verbal crap your superior spews! Now get to class before I demote you!"

Jim and Bones, the last two and the only ones on the transport not technically enrolled, stepped out into the waning sunlight to behold Christopher Pike, face scarlet, panting as the last of the reds scurried away, browbeaten. He flashed them a strained smile and handed them each a data pad.

"Oh, damn," Bones groaned.

"Damn nothing," Pike said crisply, smoothing the rumpled edges of his paint-vomit shirt. "Finish those and then turn them in to the main office, which is fifteen minutes due north. There's a sign out front, can't miss it. Jim, two demerits for not wearing the full uniform, and Dr. McCoy, two demerits for drinking." One brow raised at their disbelieving looks, he shrugged.

"I'm a captain. It's my job to know when you idiots are screwing up." He gave them a jaunty wave and wandered off, another man in command gold making quick conversation with the erstwhile leader.

Just as quickly as they'd found him, he was gone again, leaving behind two confused men who traded glances with each other. Jim stared at the PADD, thumbing through it's contents, the urge to ditch the thing growing stronger as the legal jargon became even more complex.

"It's only gonna get worse," Bones muttered, scrawling answers haphazardly with the stylus.

"At least we're doing it together," Jim said to himself, and dived into the paperwork with all the enthusiasm of a beast going to the slaughter. Which, Jim thought moodily, was a very apt description, since this was going to be about as pleasant.

* * *

"Ugh!" Nyota Uhura, one of many cadets recently brought to heel for their rash actions, stalked into the linguistics lab and threw herself into a chair, hooking up the headset and moodily fitting it over her head. Across the room, her instructor didn't bat an eyelash at her frustration.

"I assume your endeavor did not work out to your advantage," he said calmly, the foreign lilt to his voice especially pronounced in the otherwise silent room.

"No," she snapped. She flicked a switch to begin the simulated message, pulling out a PADD and taking the stylus in hand. As the garbled message began filtering through, she began jotting down notes and rearranging the syntax in her head. "Some asshole bartender got in a fight with a bunch of our guys and Pike busted us."

"I have requested several times that you not use that kind of language, Nyota." She twisted her chair around, meeting his dark gaze, and felt the tiniest bit of shame course through her. He was so polite, after all, and it was her fault that she couldn't keep to his instructions. She shrugged apologetically.

"Doesn't matter. He was on the transport back, and now he's gonna be a cadet." She snorted and pressed the end button, recording her data and waiting a minute for the computer to run it through and see how she did. "Good thing he's gonna be taking freshman classes. I don't think I could stand being in the same room as him!"

"You should not let your irritation cloud your judgement," he said instead. He seemed fond of making drastically vague and totally off-topic statements like that, not that Nyota could ever figure out why. "It lowers your concentration drastically. You have made four errors on your translation, one of which, had it been in an actual interstellar situation, would have brought about war between the Federation and the species sending the message."

"Blame it on the hungover one," she grouched, but a small smile was worming its way onto her face. Her instructor was harsh sometimes, but always fair. That and his mysterious allure (not to mention his dashingly aristocratic looks) were probably the contributing factors to her major crush on him, which was also why she found it difficult to remain irritated with him for more than an hour or so. Usually.

"If you are experiencing a 'hangover', I would suggest going to the infirmary and requesting an IV. It would rehydrate you more quickly than ordinary fluid consumption."

Nyota sighed and shook her head, propping her head up on her elbow. He was so... awkward. Socially, of course, she bet he wasn't quite as awkward in his studies. He seemed a lot more comfortable giving a lecture, or even by himself. Probably more so the latter, she was willing to bet. He didn't seem like the type to enjoy contact with other beings.

"You may attempt one more communication exercise," he said quietly. "If you do not correctly translate it this time, I will have to ask you to return to your studies. I may have been preemptive in my advancement of your dialect training."

"No, no," Nyota said hurriedly. "It's alright, I was just distracted. I'll be fine." She returned to her console, eyes narrowed, intent to succeed written in every curve of her body.

Spock glanced briefly up at his concentrated student, returning immediately to his PADD. He was certain that he felt no affection for her - it was a stretch to admit he didn't have feelings for her, mostly because he didn't have emotions (as he told himself) - and yet... he was drawn to her. She presented the same stubborn personality he had sorely lacked for the past few years.

He had known that Jim had left not long after he had departed. He had known that the graves of his family were located in Riverside, Iowa, and that he knew where it was as surely as Jim did. Every ounce of logic he had ever possessed screamed that Terra was where Jim was, most likely that same town they'd visited as children, and that Nyota had just been there... but it was foolish to think Jim was the one at the bar. Foolish and the product of human longings he certainly did not feel.

As much as he wished Jim was with him (even wished that the fight had never happened, that this was a bad dream he was going to wake up from and get teased about in the morning over breakfast, that Jim really was changing his mind and growing up and joining Starfleet) some part of him had refused to find him and ask for the rift that had torn them apart be healed. Spock knew, as firmly as he knew his secret love for his mother, that it was not his fault.

He should not have to apologize, therefore, as logic dictated, he would not. If Jim were to seek him out - which was nigh impossible - he would be the one lamenting his actions. Spock would be cold, cool, and distanced, as became a proper Vulcan.

Though a small, human portion of him yearned for the casual contact Jim initiated almost daily - a simple pat on the back, a light punch to the arm. On rare occasions, a hug. He had not had any un-accidental contact in several years. It was unusual for a Vulcan to want to be touched, but Spock found himself in that compromising condition. Not only that, but he missed his friend, plain and simple. Missed the fun they had, the simple days they spent together. Missed the way Jim made him feel, as if he were a being of worth, and not just the product of a traitor and a whore.

Against his better judgement, he stood, striding silently over to where Nyota sat, hunched over as she took down copious amounts of notes, stylus firmly lodged in her mouth as she thought about the latest mess of syllables crackling over the headset. Hesitantly, he lifted one arm, fingers extended, just brushing her shoulder.

She jumped almost six inches off her seat, but when she turned around, he was already ten feet away, hands behind his back, calmly staring at her with his head cocked. Smiling nervously, Nyota turned back to her assignment, and Spock berated himself foolishly.

_What would Father have said? A poor excuse for a Vulcan I am, indeed. No emotions. I am calm; I am logic. Nothing can sway me..._

_Not even Jim? Jim... marvelous eyes, so blue... so different than mine..._

Spock shook his head fiercely and barely held in the sigh that so wanted to escape. This was going to be a long day.

---

**Notes:**

Nothing really new happening out here. Got ten million inches of snow... I've shoveled the driveway three times in the past three days... and I hate filling out scholarship paperwork. So, I've been busy, and I'm sorry I haven't updated, and while I'm not exactly fond of this chapter, it had to happen. (Though I must say the little bit at the end with Spock was my favorite part to write. He's so interesting!) ^^;; Don't forget to check out my poll! (Also, no worries - no new stories 'til this one's done!)

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, who's put this story on their favorites or alerts, and to those of you who read it and are happy but don't do anything: Stop. Do something. For every chapter you don't review, a kitten just barely escapes being smushed. They only have nine lives. Do you want to be the one responsible for making it eight?

Kidding, kidding. Have a nice weekend and see you next time!


	18. eighteen

**Three Years Later**

**Spock - 26 Jim - 25**

_"You're insufferably arrogant, do you know that?" _

_"Oh, stop. I'm going to start blushing, and when that happens, I'm expecting something worth it," Jim said slyly, lifting one eyebrow, his merry blue eyes sparkling. Clothed impeccably in his maroon cadet uniform, he was lounging on a captain's chair, speaking to his communications officer._

_Who, admittedly, seemed less than agreeable to his charms. Nyota Uhura, her hair tied back in a low ponytail, glared over her shoulder and resumed her efforts of trying not to bite her 'commanding officer's' head off. Her endeavor was an excellent one of self-control; however, she was not the only one completely furious and irritated with one James T. Kirk. _

_Leonard McCoy was sitting ramrod straight in his chair, eyes darting over the multitude of screens, and he actually flinched as the readouts began flashing red. True, he was the medical officer on board, but as this wonderful little chamber didn't actually have a med bay, he was forced to participate. Actually, in all reality, he was forced to watch his friend fail._

_Again._

_Jim Kirk frowned, then, heavy lines settling on his forehead, as he took stock of the damage the ship was reporting. Shields were down to twenty percent, the engines were fried completely aside from ten percent impulse power, the dilithium crystals were shot - actually, that was the only humorous part, because the 'feed' from the engineering bay was one of carefully constructed chaos, with most of the crew either running around aflame or lying on the ground, unconscious - and truthfully, it couldn't get much worse._

_"Are you going to do something!?" Uhura yelled, her transmitter dangling precariously off one ear. Klingon death threats were filtering through in harsh bursts of static, and some of them were so potent in language that she actually jerked back, covering her mouth to bite back a startled inhalation at their severity. _

_"Reroute all remaining power to impulse! Get to the _Maru_!" Jim was on his feet, now, striding back and forth, barking out orders like a seasoned captain. "Make sure that any shots are taken into what's already been damaged! Bones, prepare the med bay, we're taking the survivors and running!"_

_McCoy whirled around in his seat, teeth clenched, as warning klaxons began to howl. Any other member of the crew was now either sitting back in absolute shock as to the information their station was receiving, or pounding furiously away to get some kind of response. Bones, until that point, had been one of the latter; he now found himself in the precarious position of asking to give up or yelling at his friend to stop making it worse._

_As it was, he could only do as he was ordered, so he keyed in the sequence that did as he was asked. The other 'doctors' bustled around the cavernous room, preparing the beds for the injured. Carts full of every medication conceivable were rolled in; the 'doctors' steadied themselves with deep breaths and nodded towards the view screen. _

_"Ready to receive stranded crew members," Bones bit out. "Jim," he muttered, gesturing for the younger man to speak with him._

_Jim stepped off the podium, wincing as the filtered shouts for help increased three-fold. "Yes?" he growled. "In case you haven't noticed," he said shortly, casting a glance at the state of panic that was beginning to overcome the control room, "I'm a little busy."_

_"You blew it, Jim," Bones said bluntly. "The first time you tried to shoot them and the Klingons waiting outside the Neutral Zone fried your ass. This time, with the stealthy attempts to just talk and trick them into letting you get to the _Maru_? Didn't work much better. Face it, Jim - you've lost again."_

_Jaw set, Jim didn't reply, just stalked away, and when the lights brightened in the dim room, he let out a curse and punched the nearest console. Still silently fuming, he was escorted out of the room with the rest of the training crew. The Board members watching from the one-way windows placed above - also where the main computer stations were, the better that they could understand what was going on inside the sim and inside the program simultaneously - nodded and whispered._

The visual feed from one corner of the room cut, descending immediately into a rush of static that startled Jim, who ended up knocking over his entire pilfered tool set onto the floor. The metal instruments clanged loudly; Jim froze, whipping up a reserve of excuses tailor-made for when he was discovered in places he wasn't supposed to be. The area remained still, though, and after another moment he sighed and relaxed.

Grumbling, he gathered the fallen tools, strapping them in and tucking the cloth into the waistband of his pants. Smirking now, he readjusted some panels that looked to be hanging a little crookedly and wiped off his face, grimacing when dark grease stained his arm. He was going to have to wash his face now, he decided; he didn't want to leave any traces behind to say he was the culprit.

"Really, Spock," Jim said to himself as he slid out the door, managing a quick fix of the automated lock as he passed through. "I'd've expected your programs to be a little more challenging."

Spock's general infamy throughout campus had spread to even Kirk and Bones, the lonely outcasts of their classes. With the weight of being the youngest teacher, first half-Vulcan, and smartest being to pass through the university on his shoulders, it wasn't a wonder he was never seen by the motley pair. Not even when Jim decided to take the test again did he appear: it seemed that he had better things to do than watch cadets fail multiple times.

Not that he was complaining. Even though the original conflict still smarted in the back of his mind, fresh as a wound from the strange Romulan phaser that he'd been privy to a while ago, he couldn't tuck his pride away and apologize. On some long nights, when sleep eluded him, he wondered if he ever would. The question remained unanswered, lurking like a shadow on the edges of his conscious thoughts.

Whistling a cheerful off-key tune under his breath, Jim put his hands back in his pockets and made his way back to the dorm where Bones was sleeping. Or, hopefully, was now. When Jim had left to use the restroom - a trip that took almost two hours - it was two o'clock in the morning, and Bones had been busy drinking himself into a stupor.

"This way," he slurred, "I won' have ta watch ya fail again." Bidding him farewell was a bottle of whiskey, which McCoy clung to. It had been perilously close to empty.

"Maybe he's unconscious," Jim mused, swiping his card over the lock pad. It slid open soundlessly, and Jim slipped inside, silent as a wraith. "I probably shouldn't have stayed to watch the last exercise," he decided aloud, but he shrugged after a moment and winced as his shoulder popped loudly.

Well. That'd teach him to not stretch out before holding himself up on one arm for ninety minutes, eh? A smug grin now firmly in place, he flashed his card and walked inside, observing that McCoy was indeed unconscious, on the floor, snoring like an injured animal. His long legs were twitching restlessly in his sleep; Jim stepped delicately over them as he flopped into his bunk.

It seemed like he'd only closed his eyes for a moment before he was being roughly shaken. Jim, being hangover-less, snapped straight up and quite cleanly whacked his head on the upper bed frame. Hissing in pain, he grabbed his head and was rewarded with a familiar dry voice.

"At least now we're in the same boat," McCoy said, quirking one brow at Jim, who was rolling on the single bed and muttering curses under his breath.

"Shut up or I'll turn the lights on," Jim mumbled, cracking one eye open to discover his threat had been nullified. Bones just laughed, pausing once to clutch at his own head. He held out one hand which Jim took gratefully, tugging him onto the floor.

Faced with a pair of socks he could've sworn had just glared at him and shuffled away, Jim scrambled hastily to his feet and clapped his friend on the back, smirking mischievously at the good doctor. Bones could only stare grumpily at the younger man as Jim pulled on a black undershirt, tossing the dirty clothes he'd been wearing into a pile somewhere in the vicinity of the rest of the laundry.

"Gimme a sec to clean up," Jim said quickly, running to the 'fresher and splashing water on his face to rid it of any unwanted stains, dirt, or other such chemicals he'd been unaware of. Practically strutting back out, he smiled in his most dashing fashion, leaning artfully in the doorway, watching as Bones clumsily clomped his way through the morning routine.

"So," Jim said, causing Bones to look up with a ferocious expression on his face, "d'you think I'll get a plaque or a memorial statue when they see how easily I beat the _Kobayashi Maru_?"

"I think they'll revoke their decision on letting you go up a grade," Bones ground out as his head gave a particularly vicious throb. "Honestly, Jim, why can't you just accept it? Spock made it unbeatable for a reason!"

"'Cause I'm stubborn like that," Jim said cheekily. "And this time," he said, grinning, "I have a plan. We'll beat it for sure, no problems."

McCoy's words had struck a chord, however, and Jim turned away, lost briefly in thought. Would the Board do that, honestly?

After spending six months completely bored out of his skull, Jim had finally gotten fed up (and drunk) enough to confront the decision that he start as a freshman with all the rest of the new recruits. He'd given them permission to see his aptitude tests (not so much as allowed as told them to look at it again and move him up before he started beating his brains in with the nearest sharp object) and they'd been especially apologetic (read: so irritated they would have said yes if he left) for forcing him to take classes that didn't offer him any challenge at all.

That didn't stop them from giving him another six months worth of detention, however. But it had been worth it, not only because he was actually starting to learn stuff again, but because he'd been able to participate in classes Dr. McCoy was also in. That was only the lecture portions, however; otherwise, Jim was stuck with all his year-mates in an endless dance of paperwork and verbal abuse.

And some sex. Just to spice things up.

Doubtless McCoy thought that was where he'd disappeared to early that morning, Jim mused, stifling a chuckle as Bones appeared in front of him, hair in disarray, only just managing to straighten his uniform. He gave Jim a squinted glare and stomped out, leading the way.

"Nope, no breakfast today!" Jim chirped, punching Bones on the arm. Hopping down the stairs in front of the building, he turned his face up and closed his eyes, enjoying for a single moment the feeling of sunlight on his skin. Vulcan had been warm, almost unpleasantly so, all the time. Iowa had been sunny, but the winters were brutal, and he hadn't seen snow in seven years, making it that much colder.

California, on the other hand, was a wonderful medium. Oh, sure it got hot - plenty hot. That wasn't the issue. It was the extreme swings between seasons Jim was attempting to avoid, and he'd found a diamond in the rough in San Francisco.

"Damn." McCoy ran a hand through his unruly hair, bringing it down to swipe at his eyes as he blinked in the early morning sunlight. "Can't even get any food before we throw ourselves into the lion's den."

"Oh, please, old man," Jim said easily as the pair continued the trek, swiveling his head now and again to whatever caught his eye - a bird, leaves on trees rustling in the wind - with a quiet laugh. "Like I said. Plaque, memorial statue - maybe I'll get my own section in the record's book."

"Which one are you talking about?" McCoy growled gruffly. "The one for failing a one-time exercise the most spectacularly? Wait-" He paused, making a grand gesture, and snapped out, "Are there any left not already taken by you or Spock?"

Jim snorted lightly and proceeded to dump his friend into the nearest bush. Biting his knuckle to keep from bursting out laughing, he raced on ahead and jogged up the stone stairs, waiting impatiently for Bones to catch up. A little niggling thought at the back of his brain - that damn Voice again, Jim discovered moodily - piped up as soon as he had caught his breath from the chuckling.

_This plan will not work. Even if Spock does find it a viable solution, the rest of the teachers will not. You will be suspended! Everything you've done in the past three years will be wasted time!_

Wincing, he tugged at the hem of his shirt, assuaged by a sudden onslaught of doubt. The Voice was usually the more intelligent vocalization in his head, and though he'd taken great pains to ignore what it said, it was getting more insistent. Jim did the first thing he could think of - he yelled at it.

_No one's asking you! Now leave me the hell alone!_

There was a definite sense of confusion. _If you would simply _listen_ to what I see fit to tell you, I would not come back and harass you so often. Why are you so stubborn?_

_I dunno. Are you going to leave, or do I have to go kiss someone? Hormones are a bitch to talk through, I hear._

_As you wish. Just remember what I have said, and what I am saying now._ And, for the first time in months, the Voice fell silent. Jim blinked, gently touching one temple with a palm.

"Maybe I am going crazy," he muttered. He paused for a second and nodded. "I just had a conversation with a voice in my head. Of course I'm going crazy!" Jim smiled and ran a hand through his hair, resolutely ignoring the creeping feeling of dread now growing in his middle. He wasn't a child any more, Jim reminded himself. Imaginary friends that spoke with you (that were you, in all reality) was all a thing of the past. He'd outgrown that by the time he hit double digits. It was time to accept that the Voice was just in his head - there was absolutely no reason to take what it said to heart.

_Of course, it did tell me to apologize, and to connect with Spock again once I got here, and to attempt to be a good student, and to stop acting like an idiot... I've never listened to it before and all it did was nag. Now I'm especially not listening and what is it going to get me?_

Jim swallowed and crossed his arms over his stomach, suddenly feeling very much like a child about to be reprimanded.

From the bush McCoy had been shoved in came a squeak, and curse, and a rattle as the older man clawed his way free of the branches, an irate animal of the small and furry variety chattering angrily at him as he tumbled to the ground. Leaves and sticks were embedded in his hair and he pushed himself to his feet, throwing a glower over his shoulder and striding up the stairs in long, loping steps.

"I hope you're pleased," he said gruffly, picking some of the shrubbery from his scalp. Jim gave him an empty smile in return, but at his friend's concerned look, slid easily into an arrogant slouch. Uneasy silence settling over the pair, they stepped through the doors. Their footsteps echoed hauntingly in the empty hall, and Jim punched in the pass-code with slightly shaking fingers.

_It's now or never,_ Jim thought. _Time to kick some ass and take some names!_

Assembled in the moderately sized room was a ragged team of volunteers. Most of them had operated under both of Jim's previous exercises, so they weren't surprised to see he was back again. The _Maru _being a test of command, signing up was mandatory the first time, but beyond that was at your own time and expense.

Uhura was still there, though, for whatever reason.

(She would say, later, when asked, that she wanted experience acting under a commander she couldn't stand, as to lessen the effect when someone she didn't like became her superior officer. What she wouldn't admit, however, was if anyone could beat the damn thing, it was Jim, and with Spock watching, she was willing to deal with him for the sake of a good impression.)

"Everyone ready?" Jim called.

Uhura rolled her eyes as the rest of the cadets called out their assent.

"Why aren't you wearing the full uniform?" she asked instead, legs crossed in a way that put her fine limbs on display. Jim was momentarily distracted by the sheer amount of flesh present before he could re-hook his jaw and speak.

"Didn't want to." He gave a wave in the general direction of the one-way windows, indicating he was ready to begin. Just to be impudent, he had kept his captain's chair pointed away from their questing eyes. "Alright. What's our status?"

Uhura's voice dulled to a drone. "We are receiving distress signals from the _Kobayashi Maru_. They have been stranded in the Neutral Zone. There is also a Klingon battle cruiser present, shields and weapons active. What are your orders?"

Jim turned his head thoughtfully upwards, chin in hand. "What are your orders... _captain._"

She settled for making a disgusted sound in the back of her throat as she began to negotiate the release of the stranded crew members. The simulation Klingons, however, were not buying it.

"They're arming their missiles," Bones said helpfully. "Shouldn't we... I dunno... _do something?_"

"Nah." Jim settled deeper into the chair, letting his legs flop out and his head drop back. Closing his eyes, he began to review for the test he was going to have in his next lecture hour. Something about biology. Or was it the starship design? It was probably the starship design. He nodded once, eyes still closed.

"Jim!" Bones said sharply. "They're firing!"

"Give it a sec," Jim said sleepily. His late night escapades were catching up to him; though he'd gone without sleep for several days before, it didn't stop him from feeling like crap during the sunlit hours. "How're we doing?"

The entire room was completely silent. Jim peeked out from under his lashes to behold every single one of his crew members staring in absolute awe at their viewscreens. Bones was the one to voice their incredulous complaint.

"That's impossible!" he said, affronted, bringing his face up close to the screen as if to peer behind the pixels and find whatever malignancy was currently gripping the program. After throttling Jim, of course. That was number one on his list of things to do. _You said you had a plan, but _this?_ Oh, Jim..._

"You'll find the Klingon ship has lowered its shields, and the back-ups they've brought aren't under cloaking devices," Jim said brightly. "One missile each should do it. No need to waste ammo." Smiling lazily, he was rewarded with a glare of unparalleled magnitude from Uhura, who was feeling only slightly useless. What had she managed to do? Absolutely nothing, that was what.

"Prepare the med bay," Jim continued. "We're beaming the survivors aboard."

In less than fifteen minutes, it was over. The captain and crew of the _Maru _reported in and the screens went dark. Cadets rose from their posts, chattering in whispers with their neighbors, intent on discovering how, exactly, Jim Kirk had managed to do the impossible. Suddenly nervous - _how'd he do it cheating? possibly here on a scholarship can't get it revoked don't want to be here when he gets busted sucks for him! _- they fled, cockroaches from a shining light.

Only Bones remained in his seat, and Uhura was staring up at the windows with a frown on her face. "Damn!" she swore, throwing the headset onto the console in an unusual burst of fury.

"What did you do?" McCoy hissed furiously, wrenching Jim's chair around so the startled younger man almost took a dive. Jim righted himself, tugging at the hem of his shirt, and stood with one eyebrow raised, plainly confused.

"I beat it," Jim said, as if it explained everything. Almost childlike in his sincerity, he continued, "It's a program that you're trying to beat, right? So I took a less conventional way and used it to my advantage. After all, who's gonna think of re-writing some of the code to suit themselves?" Jim offered Bones a toothy grin, and it was Uhura who voiced the unanimous thought between the two.

"You're such an arrogant idiot!" she burst out. "You're so smart you blew straight into our grade but you can't even figure this one little thing out?!"

Jim snorted. "Please," he said sarcastically, a tendril of irritation worming its way through his rational thought. "Enlighten me."

She fixed him with a scrutinizing look, jaw clenched. Finally, after a tense moment, she shook her hair out behind her and left without a word. Jim cocked his head at the gesture, his face set in its usual stubborn scowl.

"Fine." He shrugged with one shoulder and, out of habit, flicked his eyes up at the viewing windows, fully expecting to see the usual gray smear that meant someone was watching.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl.

Instead of the ordinary dark color, it was completely clear. The banks of computers stood at attention like soldiers, each manned diligently by programmers and engineers of the highest credibility, all of them students.

There was a small cluster of people speaking with heads bowed. They wore command gold; each was more silver-haired than the last, save for Captain Pike, who only showed a touch at the temples.

And then there was Spock.

Spock, his brother, his friend - _former on both counts, now, I suppose _- staring at him, hands clasped behind his back, dark eyes locked with his light ones, burning with some kind of inner fire.

Jim felt himself freeze, felt his jaw drop open, felt his eyes go wide with surprise and anticipation and trepidation and a thousand other emotions he couldn't possibly have a name for. Both of them stood, still as stone, neither blinking, until Jim could only register one coherent thought passing through his brain.

_I need alcohol. I need a lot, and I need it _now.

* * *

Jim's face, at that moment in time, Spock decided sourly, would forever be seared into his brain. Those blue eyes - he'd had dreams about those before, staring him down, condemning him for a choice he never had wanted to take in the first place - sparked with familiar electricity, still holding the same vigor Jim had had almost a decade ago.

_Close to eight years, now,_ Spock thought coldly. _He would have turned eighteen not long after he left. It has been almost eight years since I have seen your face, Jim, and this is the expression I am to be greeted with?_ If he hadn't been so indignant, he would have been furious.

Jim knew very well that he had originated this simulation. He knew (Spock never watched the cadets fail, not since he'd perfected it) Spock came to observe. He knew, and he still acted as if Spock was some kind of... monster.

The completely rational part of his brain flatly insisted Jim was simply surprised, and that he needed to let go of all the negative emotions he'd been gripping close to his heart those long years. But the human part - that damning emotional center that felt burned by those wide blue eyes - was shifting rapidly through every emotion he insisted he didn't feel.

Anger. Irritation. Annoyance. Regret. Hopelessness. Indignation.

Outwardly, of course, Spock could have been mistaken for a sculpture, so serene and unmoving were his features. The only sign he was feeling anything at all was the white-knuckled grip he had his other hand in.

From the moment the _Maru _had suddenly cut out, only to re-boot with the Klingon ships offering themselves belly-up, the entire room had been a mass of panic. Startled and worried cadets had scrambled around, holding PADDs and sheafs of paper and data chips, shouting over each other as they struggled to locate the source of the virus. Spock had simply watched the ant's nest teem, opting to see how this curious maneuver would play out.

That was, until the command chair had turned around, and Jim had almost fallen forward. His face - so expressive, so trusting - turned towards the doctor, who spoke rapidly with him. Spock's student, Nyota Uhura, had remained behind to give Jim what appeared to be a firm reprimand, until she had disappeared with the rest of the crew.

And the rest, of course, was history, as the humans sometimes said. Their eyes had met, and Spock had clearly seen how Jim had reacted to seeing him again.

Some of his superiors - all interested in this one human male, after seeing his aptitude tests and hearing he'd signed up for the unbeatable test a third time - crowded together, heads bowed, discussing one Jim Kirk.

The oldest, his hair a stark, shining white, detached himself from the huddled mass and sidled up next to Spock, still silent and unmoving despite the massive shock to his system.

"Who is he?" he wondered aloud. "How did that kid beat your test?"

Spock took a deep, slow breath, holding it in until his chest began to burn. After a moment, he released it silently and murmured to himself, "I might have some idea."

* * *

It was such a lonely life. Even as he was surrounded by his crew-mates, the comforts of home in a time he'd long forgotten, the loneliness was there, an aching, gnawing pain in his torso. Days would go by as he curled in upon himself, willing the crushing grief to leave him. Those days, he was never bothered by the most trivial of his problems - anything he didn't want to deal with, Ayel was handily available for.

Of course, that would end soon. It would all end soon.

It had been twenty five years - a quarter of a century - to the day, hour, _minute_ they had been stuck in this miserable situation, cut off from all they loved and held in place by the goal their captain had established. Romulus was whole again; yet they remained separate, exiled in name only for a mission only they knew about.

"The wait is over." Nero turned back to his crew, eyes shining in the reflective light from the stars, filtering in through the ports scattered along their ramshackle mining vessel. He spread his arms wide, staff stowed for the moment, his many layered cloaks and shirts matted and filthy with grime and sweat.

"In mere _moments_-" the crew cheered, bodies churning, arms waving wildly in the air "-_Spock _will come through the wormhole we traveled through, and we will be here to give him _retribution_!"

His voice descended into a bass growl, inciting more yells and shouts from the roiling mass on the decks below.

"Spock's crime will not go unpunished! He will feel the same pain we have felt a thousand times since Romulus was lost! Those we have lost will be saved! We will not allow this history to come to pass!"

The noise was almost a physical force, now, buffeting against his face gently. Nero closed his eyes, reverently soaking in the attention. It was so rare, these days, he allowed himself to speak, to truly be heard. The buffoons at the Klingon prison camps did not deserve his attention, merely his aggression and rage. It had taken years, but they were free, and it was time for all they had worked for to come to fruition.

"_For Romulus!_"

He lifted one fist, head bowed, as the swell of noise crashed over him with all the force of a tidal wave. Satisfied his crew was now ready to face the one worthy of their wrath, he faded back into the shadows of the central command station, gazing outwards as his second approached him silently.

"It is time," Ayel breathed, so softly Nero would never have heard had he not been waiting for those exact words. On the main screen, what appeared to be a lightning storm crackled into being - white forks of pure power sparking violently, frothing around a hole blacker than night. A speck, no bigger than the nail on Nero's littlest finger, was vomited out into the galaxy.

A cruel smile spread on Nero's face, toothy and full of promises that spoke only of future pain.

"Bring him."

It took little work for his men to capture the _Jellyfish_ - confused and disorientated, Spock stood little chance of evading the massive behemoth that was the _Narada._ The giant ship seemed to swallow the little runner, and it was with great anticipation Nero stood in the cargo bay, watching with poorly concealed glee as the wizened and elderly Spock stepped off his docking ramp with all the dignity an ambassador of his stature could muster.

That did not stop the lowly Vulcan wretch from falling to his knees, however, head bowed. He knew of his mistake. While he knew it was not his fault - the star had gone nova at a time they could not possibly have predicted - he carried the blame on his unbending shoulders, even as Nero coldly informed him of his fate.

Now it was time. Still grinning his shark grin, Nero sent out his orders and sat back to watch the show.

---

**Notes: **

Right. I've no excuses for the delay except for a massive case of self-doubt and writer's block. As it is, this chapter doesn't entirely please me... but what happens happens. The plot does what it wishes; I am but a vessel to its ever-shifting whims.

Gosh, that sounds poetic, doesn't it? ^^ Sorry, sorry. Right, you know the drill - please drop me a review telling me to cut the crap and get back to Kirk and Spock actually speaking, which I guarantee will happen next chapter. (Though the issues, as you've seen, are going to be talked over with loud voices and possibly fists.) Or voicing your other displeasures. Thanks to everyone who left a review last chapter, and on insistence from you all, no more crappy-ass threats about killing kittens.

I'd like to say: Spock is an idiot. So is Jim. And because neither can read each other's mind and reassure them what they're thinking is wrong, they're both going to be intensely pissed for a while. On that lovely note, peace until next time.


	19. nineteen

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

With each dull sound reaching his ears a beat after his head had made contact with the wall, Jim was finally beginning to see why people said he had such a thick skull. No matter how hard he hit the synth-plaster, it didn't erase the stony look of Spock imprinted behind his eyelids. He paused for a moment to gather his wits, and he brought the bottle to his lips again, draining the remaining quarter or so of whiskey left.

"Jim."

He ignored the voice... well, not the Voice, but the other one, the one that had been calling his name for probably the last fifteen minutes. It was beginning to sound a little testy, though, and Jim wondered if it really was Spock, because he always took on that tone when he was starting to get irritated, as much as he didn't show it. It was the little things, Jim decided. Subtle things: a tensing of the jaw, clenching of hands, a change in the mood reflected in those dark eyes. To him, it was like Spock was wearing a neon sign that said 'Leave me alone or I'll rip your head off', but to others, it was just a movement to be disregarded.

How stupid of them, ignoring Spock like that, Jim decided, resuming his head-to-wall exercise. The skin on his forehead was beginning to pull painfully taut, though, whatever good that meant.

"Dammit, Jim!" A cool hand - not burning hot, not slim fingers, oh no - wrenched him around and he tried and failed to focus on one of McCoy's three swirling faces. Grinning stupidly, the younger man slid down until his rump met the floor, upon which he decided sitting was much more pleasant than standing and beating one's brains in.

"Oh," Jim mumbled. "Hi." He chuckled and peered up at his friend's concerned face. "I've... been drinking." He sighed happily.

"Well if that's not obvious," McCoy grumbled, running one hand through his ruffled mess of hair and putting the other on his hip. Jim was rather reminded of the times Amanda had done the exact same thing, minus the alcohol. She'd always been nicer than Sarek, Jim thought with a bob of his head. Probably 'cause he was human, like her. Familiar species and all that. But then again-

McCoy interrupted his rambling thoughts by grabbing Jim under his arms and hauling him to his feet, where Jim lurched forward drunkenly and sighed. "Found your whiskey," Jim sighed, pushing Bones away and leaning his head back against the wall, rubbing absentmindedly at the bruised area above his brows. "Sorry. I drank it all."

"That's not the problem right now," McCoy muttered to himself, rummaging around in his bag for something. What, exactly, he was looking for wasn't clear for a moment until he turned and approached slowly, one hand behind his back. "They've called for a campus-wide meeting, Jim, at six."

"Alright." Jim nodded. He could do that. It'd just be him and the Board, he figured, and they'd seen him smashed before, so it was no big deal. And it wasn't like it was close to six anyways. The _Maru_ exercise had taken place at... well, early. And he'd drank for a few hours, true, but he still had plenty of time. Though, as he enjoyed being prepared for the unexpected (as much as one could be, at least), he finally forced his tongue to move. "What time is it?"

"5:53."

It took a moment for that to sink in, and while Jim was busy pondering this latest development (before Jim could seriously imbibe upon Bones' stash of illegal alcohol, he seemed to go through a bit of a philosophical stage, until he really got going, upon which he was just a dick) McCoy grabbed his shoulder and pressed a hypo-spray against the crook of his neck.

The hypo decompressed with a hiss and a harmless puff of expelled gases, though the bite from the needle made Jim jump and yelp, and as Bones drew back, watching intently, Jim dropped to the ground, completely unconscious.

McCoy stared at the body of his friend, then disgustedly at the empty cartridge. "Why are you allergic to everything?" he grumbled exasperatedly, going for the old-fashioned method and digging out some smelling salts to bring the younger man back to reality. The re-hydration/system flush (affectionately called the 'Bender Mender' by most of the medical community on campus) was only supposed to force the cells to metabolize the alcohol quickly and then pour water in to get rid of the hangover. Not knock him out.

Unfortunately it seemed, as Jim groaned awake, only the first had been accomplished, and with the clock working against them, Bones hauled Jim to his feet, ignoring his moan of misery. "C'mon," Bones grunted, shoving Jim out of the door and, finally sick of watching Jim stagger all over the place, clutching his head, slung an arm around his shoulder.

Half-walking, half-carrying the younger man (who was complaining in a muttered voice about his friend and his damn hypos, and what orifice he could shove them in), Bones wasn't surprised they got a lot of looks as they exited the dorm building. Hell, a better part of them were glaring. Graduation was in a matter of days, and here they were, dragged off to some meeting about the next stupid thing Jim Kirk had done (or so they thought; rumor had spread like wildfire of his victory in the _Maru _and sheer jealousy made tongues wag more often than not). If not for the deadly looks his friend was shooting them, the other cadets might have taken it up with Jim himself.

Not a one of them was that stupid, however.

The pair cut through the center of campus, the sun dancing above the horizon. Dark oranges streaked across the sky, painting the leaves from the trees a green outlined in gold. A stiff smile spread on Jim's face, and he swallowed, wincing as the light speared across his vision, a hammer-blow of pain accompanying it along his brain.

"Next time," Jim croaked, "just let me miss the thing. I'll live."

Bones snorted, but said nothing. Contrary to Jim's unspoken wish, he sped up, long strides eating the distance between the main assembly hall and their current position. With not two minutes to spare, they pounded up the stone steps and burst through the doors. Jim disentangled his arm from around Bones' shoulder, and they both faded into the crowd as the last dregs of campus society climbed to the upper levels to sit and enjoy the show.

Technically, Jim thought as he fell into a padded chair and rubbed his aching temples, he was supposed to be down on the floor. Not that he minded, he decided. This way, they'd have to call his name if the hearing was going the way he suspected it would. In any case, he'd be able to make a grand entrance, and when they gave him his award, he'd be so pleased he might forget how hungover he was.

_'Bender Mender' my ass. I am going to hide his bag and let him carry a purse next time. _Jim smiled fiercely.

"Attention!" The sharp voice lanced through the room, more biting than any blade. Jim stood and saluted, as did the rest of the cadets, watching impassively as the Board filed in one at a time. They turned to face the crowd of students and sat. A beat later, the convocation did as well. Jim shifted impatiently, his pants making a rustling noise that had almost every eye on him for a moment.

It was then that Jim Kirk remembered he'd forgotten his uniform top. Stifling the burn in his cheeks, he let his best arrogant smirk take over his face, and his body relaxed, if only marginally.

"James T. Kirk." The head of the Board found him immediately: barely out of his young twenties, and with an attitude to match. He'd had demerits given time and again, and yet he still couldn't be bothered to follow the rules. Such was the case this time, he thought darkly. One of several of the Board who'd gone to watch the man attempt Spock's program yet again, he'd been the most agitated when he'd come to the proper conclusion.

Jim stood, sliding past Bones, who clenched his jaw tightly. Black undershirt gritty with floor dust, Jim - the only proper word for it was _swaggered _- down the stairs, tucking his hands in his pockets and shifting his weight to one leg. He was the picture of innocence, had Bones not known the reason for his trouble. From his profile, Bones could tell he was only slightly anxious.

"Probably was worried about not tripping on the way down," he muttered. The cadet next to him - Uhura, by whatever set of circumstance - gave him a poisonous glare out of the corner of her eye. Bones resolutely ignored her and she huffed indignantly.

"Yes?" Jim said politely.

"Do you know why you have been called before us?"

Well, that didn't sound too good. Of course, the Board was full of stiffs, so it was no surprise they'd go for the intimidation tactic before congratulating him. Even as the thought crossed his mind, however, a horrible feeling of doubt swept through him. Careful practice kept it from showing in his lackadaisical stance. Jim lifted his eyes to the ceiling, tapping one finger on his chin. After a moment of thought, he shrugged.

"Can't say I do," he said cheerfully.

"You recall the _Kobayashi Maru_ exercise," the leader of the Board said loudly. "You took it this morning. Somehow, between last week's set of testers and today, you have managed to install and activate a virus allowing you unhindered access to the purpose of the mission."

"And that's important... how?"

A dark glare was leveled in Jim's direction. Confusion was beginning to overcome the doubt. They seemed more... angry, actually, than anything. "In academic vernacular, Kirk, you cheated."

"What?" Jim laughed, eyebrows shooting up. "No, no, no. You don't understand. The purpose is to get to the _Maru _and rescue the passengers. I did that. Just... not in the usual way." He looked down, blinked, and wrapped his hands around the podium in front of him. Mind, it wasn't to stop the way they were beginning to tremble, just to make him look a little more confident. He didn't get nervous about crap like this. "I didn't cheat. In fact, you should be thanking me. It didn't even take that long to get in. You might want to take it up with the programmers."

"Perhaps you should do that yourself," the Board leader said frostily. "The Board recognizes Spock, professor of Vulcan Language and graduate of Starfleet. Please, Spock, come down."

Jim barely felt his torso twist around, barely felt his eyes widen and then narrow just as quickly. Guilt prickled on the edges of his conscience as he watched Spock speak quietly with a fellow teacher a row down and stiffly stand, making his way down the stairs without making eye contact. Everything about Spock - the smoothness of his walk, the careful expressionlessness of his face - screamed home to Jim, and he wanted to apologize and go back to Vulcan and bitch about the unfairness of the Vulcan instructors and never see the clenched fists and white knuckles of his friend again.

"Spock," said the Board leader fondly. "Could you enlighten Cadet Kirk as to the exact purpose of the simulation?"

"Of course," Spock replied woodenly. His lips barely moved as he spoke the next words. "The purpose of the _Kobayashi Maru _is to simulate a no-win scenario. By slicing through the firewall and implanting your own virus to override the central programming, you have undermined the value of the exercise."

Jim bit his lower lip. Spock was eloquent as always, he decided with a nod. But was his next move worth the risk? If it failed, he'd get kicked out for sure, and Spock would never listen if he attempted to repair the bridges he'd burned. And even if it did succeed... he'd be destroying Spock's reputation.

After all, what person would take Spock seriously if they found out he was attempting to reprimand the human he'd come to see as a brother? Discounting their falling out, of course.

It took all of two astroseconds for Jim to throw out the option entirely. He might play dirty if the fight required - honor did you no good if you were dead; his father, exhibit A - but this wasn't a fight. Spock wasn't an enemy... now to get him to see that.

Jim turned slightly so one elbow was leaning on the podium and scrutinized Spock unabashedly. Spock had only grown, he noticed with a slight frown. He was taller than Jim now, but Jim was still taller than McCoy, so it was all okay in the end. He still kept his hair trimmed neatly in that ridiculous bowl cut, a far cry from Jim's rough but short brown locks. And, naturally, the posture of a man with an iron pole for a spine.

"Good ol' Spock," he muttered to himself. At one of the Board member's loud cough, he simply offered her a bright smile and resumed his original activity: Spock studying.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Cadet Kirk?"

"Only that I don't believe in no-win situations," Jim shot back, never once taking his eyes off the half-Vulcan. "You said save the _Maru_, I did just that. I don't see why there's a problem."

"You are not looking past the initial meaning, Kirk," Spock murmured. He seemed to be debating with himself, and he lifted his own eyes and met Jim's. Each was burning with inner fire, and neither could break their gaze away. "As a captain, you will be faced with no-win scenarios you won't be able to program a way out of. You are to feel that fear and contain it. That is what makes a Starfleet Captain."

"And you've never felt that yourself?" Jim said lightly, lifting a brow. "Or so I hear. Vulcans don't feel petty human emotions, do they?"

_You were afraid for me when the Romulan captain kidnapped us. You were afraid when you retreated into your own mind, and afraid for me when I faced the two halves of your self. You were terrified when Tena held you at phaser-point, especially when you saw my bluff and didn't know if I was telling the truth or lying. You feel fear, Spock, dammit, and plenty of other things too._

Spock shook his head once, regally. He was unable - or unwilling, Jim supposed - to rise to the bait. "Perhaps you would like to discuss the actual subject of this hearing, rather than my heritage."

A gentle laugh rippled through the audience at Jim's expense. Jim didn't care less; this was the first thing close to a civilized conversation they'd come to in damn near a decade. He shrugged, gesturing with one hand for Spock to continue. While much less than amused, Spock did so, clasping his hands behind his back and adopting his lecturing tone.

"One would think," Spock began delicately, "that with your family's history, you would understand the importance of such an exercise."

Jim's smile was wiped from his face in an instant and anger burned hot and bright in his chest. He bit back his first comment - one pertaining to Amanda and Spock's unusual position at the Academy - and forced the hurt to crawl in a dark part of his mind and shrivel up. _Ignore it. He's probably still pissed at you._ Instead, he said coolly, "You mean my father, Captain George Kirk." Whispers buzzed about him; most of his classmates had passed the name off as something common, a mistake.

Oh, how wrong they were.

"Yes." Spock briefly inclined his head. "You also know that your father sacrificed himself to save hundreds of lives. He did not let that fear rule him: but can the same have been said for any of the other commanders at the time? The _Kobayashi Maru _is honoring that decision of Kirk's and attempting to train the next generations to be as selfless as he was."

Jim gritted his teeth. Now that was just a cheap shot. Spock had been around him enough to know he hated being reminded of what his father had done to save him and how he had come preciously close to wasting that gift many times. Of course, Spock had been involved for most of them, so it stung just that much more. Jim opened his mouth to reply when the Board members assembled lifted their hands, calling for silence.

The screens in front of them - previously covered in documents pertaining to Kirk, such as his relocation papers to Vulcan and his aptitude tests - cleared suddenly and a message popped up, painfully short and lacking in information, making the significance a brutal punch to Starfleet's capabilities.

Every member of the Board stood in concert; the leader spoke up, his voice calm. "There has been a distress signal from Vulcan." Finally tearing their eyes away from each other, Jim tensed; Spock leaned forward, lips thinning. "There is no information for the cause of the signal at this point in time. Due to the main portion of the fleet operating out of our range at this time, we will be advancing your graduation and posting you on your starship."

The response swelled loudly for a moment, until Captain Pike whistled loud enough to shatter eardrums. Jim looked in awe at the old man. "You whistle really loud," he finally said, feeling oddly child-like. Pike chuckled and turned pointedly back to the front to hear the last part of the announcement.

"Meet the instructors in the shuttle launch bay. Your first lecture hour professor will have a data card, and when he calls your name, you are to move quickly to the appropriate shuttle and board. You will be taken to the station and you will get to your ship and attend your duties as quickly and efficiently as you have been taught. Cadets!" The student body shifted and stood, saluting. "Dismissed!" The order was barked, and the masses of red flooded the area.

Jim stood at his podium, not quite frozen in shock but still feeling as if his legs wouldn't obey his commands. A hand on his shoulder made him jump; with practiced ease, he slid out from under the grip of Leonard McCoy and turned, mouth open. It didn't seem to be processing in his brain: _Vulcan, in distress? How? Why would they need our help? What about Amanda and Sarek? Are they off-planet, or at home? Are they in danger?_

"You need to relax, Jim," McCoy said quietly. "Come on, we'd better get going. Before they sick Spock on us again," he said with a scowl, and Jim couldn't help but laugh. No matter how Spock had treated him just then, they had spoken finally. The barriers were coming down. They just had to patch up this mess on Vulcan and he'd apologize and everything would be back to normal.

The shuttle bay wasn't more than a ten minute walk at an easy pace, and with the words of the Board burning in the forefront of Jim's mind, he began jogging. McCoy huffed, rolling his eyes, but did so as well. The scenery, which had been beautiful before, now seemed to hold darkness behind every leaf and under every blade of grass.

"Amazing how serious business nixes hangovers," Bones murmured to Jim as they fell in with their classmates, the harsh white sterility of the bay looming over their heads. Shuttles lined the outer edges, stark and gray soldiers preparing to cart their munitions skywards. Bones dimly had time to realize Uhura had been assigned to the _Farragut_ - her group was within his hearing range, with none other than Spock calmly spouting names and designations - when his instructor said crisply, "McCoy, Leonard; _Enterprise_."

Jim glanced at Bones, who was almost vibrating in his excitement. He stuck around, though, to see where Jim was going, and was just as surprised as the younger man when their instructor flicked one finger on the PADD and said curtly, "No assignment for you, Kirk. You're on academic probation until your hearing is sorted out."

For Jim, it was almost as if someone had stolen every breath of air from the room. He opened his mouth to explain: _You don't understand, I lived on Vulcan, it's like my home. I need to help. Please, just put me on a ship... _But the dark look in his instructor's eyes warned him not to go any further and Jim slumped. An almost physical weight seemed to have taken residence on his chest.

"I'm sorry, Jim," McCoy said distantly. His friend's face was far away, as if Jim were looking at him through the wrong end of a telescope of ancient times. The regret on Bones' face couldn't be faked, though, and Jim wished him well in a mechanical voice.

It hit him with all the force of a blow. McCoy and Spock and Pike and Uhura were going up in space, the thing he'd dreamed about for years until the murder of his family, and they were going to help his second family in what could possibly be a life-or-death situation. And he was stuck here, on Earth. Jim's eyes narrowed and he straightened.

The dark head of hair he'd been looking for walked briskly off to his left, and Jim took several long strides to meet it. "Spock," Jim called. "Wait up!"

Spock jerked fully upright and he turned, face stony in a way that Jim could read easily. Something was clearly bothering him, but he wasn't going to talk about it unless it actively meant harm to himself. "Is there something I can help you with, Cadet Kirk?" he bit out. "As you can see, we are in a situation where time is of the essence."

"Using human phrases," Jim noticed with a small internal glow. That was one he'd taught Spock, if he recalled correctly. "Anyways, I wanted to ask you something. Can you get me on the _Enterprise_?" Any trace of humor was completely gone from his tone.

"Why are you asking me, Jim?" Spock said, jaw clenched. "We are no longer friends. You have not been a part of my family for eight years. Go talk to your own instructor."

"That's the thing," Jim muttered, glancing back over his shoulder. "He says I'm on probation."

"If that is what he says, then I will not dispute him." Spock turned, fully intent on walking away, but Jim grabbed his wrist and pulled him around, glaring up into his dark eyes.

"Damn it, Spock!" Jim swore. "They were my family too! You can't tell me they're in trouble and then say sit back, we've got it under control! You _know _me, Spock." Jim backed up a step, swallowing, and pushed forward. "If you don't let me on that shuttle, I'll find another way," he promised.

"You will be expelled," Spock said.

"School's the least of my concerns." They were both silent for another moment, each a force of their own raging against the other.

"Jim," Spock said in a low voice. "You have gone back on everything you said to me that day on Vulcan. Your hypocrisy is stunning, and your human arrogance is astounding. If you think that because we lived together for seven years - you under my roof, no less - I will allow you this one bypass, then you are wrong."

Jim clenched his fists against his thighs and had to restrain himself from punching Spock in the face. Yeah, he'd made mistakes. But he had been young and foolish, why couldn't Spock see that? The frustration Jim felt manifested as a sharp exhalation of breath.

"Don't talk to me like I'm a stupid goddamn teenager again, Spock," Jim growled. "It happened. As much as you want it to have never taken place, it did. I lived with you, and I was your friend. Hell, I was practically your brother." He took a step closer, reducing the space between them to only a few inches. "And I made a mistake. We can talk about that later. But now, Amanda and Sarek could be in danger. Please, Spock, let me help!"

Spock drew himself up and very slowly - making a point, Jim thought sourly - stepped back.

"No." He spun on the ball of his foot and stalked off, ears a dark green. Cadets fled from his imposing figure as he boarded one of the several shuttles bound for the _Enterprise_.

Jim swore extensively in Klingon, whirling around and looking for the nearest object to kick, when a dark-haired person stepped into his line of sight. Bones sighed exaggeratedly, eyes on the floor. From his friend's nervous energy, Jim supposed he'd heard the argument. Pushing the old pain down again, Jim smiled conspiratorially and knocked his shoulder against McCoy's.

"You owe me big after this, you understand?" McCoy demanded. Jim looked at Bones out of the corner of his eye, dread replacing the hurt, as McCoy dug around in his black medical bag.

"Oh, no," Jim said, holding his hands up and backing away quickly. "No, no, no, no, no. I don't care if you have to put me in a box, there is no way I'm letting you stab me with that blasted thing again!"

"Baby," Bones muttered, and leaped. The hypo depressed with a hiss of air, and Jim's eyes crossed.

"Whazzat?" he slurred.

"It's a vaccine," McCoy said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Mud flea virus. Specifics don't matter, just come with me." Jim staggered over to McCoy, who draped Jim on his shoulder, and tugged him over to the medical supplies. The crates were packed full of cartridges and equipment; Bones shoved Jim against one and began pacing.

"Bones, I feel really weird," Jim slurred, holding his hand up and examining it like it was the most interesting thing on the planet. Bones ignored him; he was still wearing a track in the floor, counting under his breath. When he reached whatever number he had been aiming for, he grabbed Jim again and pushed him in the direction of the shuttle.

"Leonard McCoy and Jim Kirk, boarding," Bones panted, needing no prompting to get Jim leaning precariously on the landing ramp. The man checking off names stuck his tongue out and paged through the PADD.

"No can do," he said, pointing to Jim. "He's on probation."

"Do you see this?" Bones flashed his I.D. card and the medical bag he held in one hand; the other was wrapped around Jim's waist to keep him from falling over. "This means I'm a doctor. And as a doctor, I'm allowed to take patients with me onboard. You wanna fight that?"

"Bones, I'm... leaking?" Jim giggled and lurched forward, knocking the PADD out of the man's hands. He bent down to pick it up, face red and disgusted.

"I really shouldn't-"

"This shuttle is taking off now, man!" Bones snapped. "Do you want to be responsible for the _Enterprise _being without a senior medical officer?!"

The man shook his head and stepped aside, throat bobbing. Bones jerked his head once, eyes wide, and said sarcastically, "Thank you!" Before the guard could change his mind, Bones dragged Jim through and dropped him into a seat, strapping him in.

Bones squeezed his eyes shut, immersing himself in a fond memory of home - back in Georgia, watching his little Jo run around, squealing happily, as the other children handed her presents and she tore through the brightly colored wrapping paper, exposing her very own holo-book... even the pangs of homesickness and just plain nausea couldn't ruin the moment.

"Thanks," a hoarse voice croaked. Bones cracked open one eye to see Jim, staring blankly out the view-ports to the starry night sky around them. "Thanks, Bones."

That almost made him feel a little better about sneaking Jim aboard. Almost.

* * *

**Notes:**

Quick update, no? Thanks for your reviews, as per usual. Reviews feed the author, people! ^_^ Finally starting to get some interaction, though still not nice. Ah well. Story does as it commands.

I'll try to update this fast again, but seriously - don't count on it. My other story is nearing its completion, so I'll be working more on that than on this. But no worries - we're not quite done yet, so expect more.

I don't own Star Trek or its stubborn idiots, Spock and Jim. Leave a review if you liked, hated, or... something about yellow. I don't care. Peace!


	20. twenty

Spock gazed out the view-port, dark eyes implacable, every muscle relaxed. If one had to name the particular expression he wore, the closest would have been thoughtful; but there was an undercurrent of something else that made the rest of the crew on deck shy away from the science officer. Spock ignored them for the most part, lost as he was in the clanging maelstrom that was his mind.

Ever since he had been a child, his father had spoken to him about the importance of remaining in control. Control of one's emotions, control of one's physical self - these were two of the first, and most important, lessons he had been taught. To view the world logically, one must master the urges of overwhelming feelings, and bend them to one's will. And, for the most part, Spock had done just that.

He slipped up, as all Vulcans did at some point in their youth. He lashed out in his anger, or he broke down in grief. But as he grew older, even with Jim and all the events that happened after he had joined their family, those began to occur less and less often. And when Jim had left - Spock slipped behind an icy exterior and caged the world away.

"Spock?"

The quiet voice was another tally under the column of his failures. Nyota Uhura appeared at his left shoulder as if summoned, or drawn. It was - strange. Spock didn't understand why her abject fascination seemed focused solely on him. He had promised himself that he would break her of it - it was distracting for her, and her work capabilities dropped noticeably when her mind wandered. But she had asked, and he had agreed, and here she was. A distracted officer would only cause problems, and yet he had reassigned her.

Another loss of control. First he had revealed his true feelings with Jim and then he had reneged on his decision and allowed his student to join him on the _Enterprise._

Nyota gently placed her hand on his arm, and Spock quickly bound the urge to step away. It would not do for a superior officer to be seen flinching from a simple touch, even if Spock wanted it to be someone else standing at his side, about to rescue their home together.

"Is there something I can assist you with, Nyota?" Spock murmured.

There was a flash of white as Nyota briefly worried her lower lip, but whatever she had been planning on saying, the words were lost to her now. She sighed daintily and shook her head, the clasp in her hair flashing in the bright lights. "Just a bit worried, that's all," she admitted. "I - I heard what you said to Kirk. Was what he said true? That you were like brothers?"

Spock turned stonily away from her, jaw clenched. Tension radiated from every harsh line on his body, and Nyota just nodded once and slipped away, as if that had been answer enough. And, Spock thought sourly, it probably had been. Yet another aspect of his heritage was being stripped away - he, the only half-Vulcan to join Starfleet, was unable to keep his emotions off his face and out of his posture when difficult memories were brought up.

And while they might think it better to show what he felt, Spock did not. It was his decision to remain separate from the human masses; his decision to keep himself under rigorous bindings in order to embrace his Vulcan ancestry. He was following a sacred path, one he could not just - _abandon_, like some people did with their principles and family. Like - well.

Faint rumbling vibrations rattled up and down his spine. Spock turned, his face carefully schooled into a calm expression, and ascended the steps to his station, located behind the captain's chair. He sat with all the dignity his position afforded him, locking away his whirling thoughts and rampant emotions for another time he could dissect them.

Captain Christopher Pike strode in, and all attention of the curious crew latched onto him. He stood poised for a moment, caught in the starlight and the glow of the various stations around him. Every wrinkle in his skin was thrown into stark relief, casting him into a living statue, weathered by wind and rain but still standing firm and tall. The moment was quickly broken as he sat, sighing under his breath and running one hand through his already disheveled hair.

"All crew members have been accounted for," Spock said, pitching his voice so only Pike could hear him. They had grown into a friendship, that, while not as deep or trusting as his bond with Jim had been, was still stubbornly present. "We are ready to launch, and Starfleet has given us permission to leave as soon as possible."

Pike nodded, and called forward, "Helmsman?"

A young man, no older than twenty-five, turned. His eyes shone with intelligence, but the anxious twitching of his fingers revealed his nerves. The male sitting next to him was even younger; with curly hair and a child's face, he cast the helmsman a curious look before slouching over his read-outs.

"Yes, sir?"

Pike paused. "Where's McKenna?"

"Ill, sir. Tapeworms, or an infection. He wasn't specific." He swallowed as he said this, not making eye contact, and Pike raised one brow. McKenna had always had strange taste in women...

"What's your name?"

"Hikaru Sulu, sir."

Pike nodded, and a relieved smile broke over Sulu's face. Once the young man had turned, facing forward once more, Pike stood, conscious of every pair of eyes on him as if they were physical weights. Giving an irritable mental shrug, Pike gripped the railing in front of him, absorbing the sight before him. Metal gleamed from around every corner; the blue displays flashed in the overhead lights; and every crew member was either staring intently at their screen or looking to the stars before them. It was a wonderful thing to know, Pike decided, that he could count on all these people to do what was needed.

"The _Enterprise _is the most technologically advanced fleet ship to date. It deserves a lot more pomp and circumstance for its maiden voyage, but a safe journey will have to be enough for us. You-" he gestured to the curly-haired recruit sitting next to Sulu. "When we're in warp, get on the comm system and send out a ship-wide briefing of the situation." He bobbed his head up and down, eyes wide.

"Sulu?" Pike said lightly, and the young man stiffened. "On my command." He paused, as much for dramatic effect as for necessity - he did have to give the man time to separate from the station and maneuver them into the proper launch position. "Punch it!"

With a smile threatening to split his face in two, Pike settled back into his chair, expecting at any moment to see the stars whipping past them, blurred like hot metal into streaks of burning brightness. After one moment, then two, he could see the agitation in every jerky movement Sulu made.

"Something wrong, helmsman?" Pike said quietly.

Sulu took a deep, calming breath, and slowly relaxed. "I'm not quite familiar with these controls, sir," he said hesitantly. "They're much more - stream-lined than past models I've been taught to use."

"Is the parking brake on?" Pike said. He leaned back in his seat, one hand playing with the hem of his shirt. Sulu blanched, but didn't make any move to change anything. Pike suppressed the urge to sigh. There was just - something gone from the recruits these days. Some kind of spark he hadn't seen since George Kirk. Well, his son certainly had his flair, but none of the responsibility that such a flair required.

"Have you disengaged the external inertial dampener?" Spock, ever helpful, had glanced over his shoulder to see what was taking so long, and noticed a blinking red icon on the screen. One thought tumbled with another - perfect harmony, balance, and logical as he had intended - and the result was his query.

"Isn't that what I said?" Pike teased, but Spock was the only one to hear his comment. Instead, Sulu whipped his head around, peered at his screen, and tugged a lever down into it's proper position as subtley as he could. This time, when Pike gave the order, Sulu was prepared, and the warp engines fired correctly.

They were off.

* * *

He was going to kill Bones. Kill him and bury him in a dark, deep place, filled with hypo-sprays and some kind of animal that ate stupid doctors who didn't seem to understand that a good time didn't involve getting stabbed in the neck and injected with vaccines he was probably allergic to. And if McCoy said anything about Jim owing him...

Jim blinked, every shape gone fuzzy around the edges. A low groan pried its way out of his mouth, as every muscle seemed to rebel and seize up at once. But pain was something Jim had long since learned how to deal with, so he shoved it aside and forced himself into a sitting position.

He remembered saying he was going to throw up on Bones, and the view of the _Enterprise_as they pulled in to dock. He remembered getting off the shuttle, stumbling like a drunk, blind in one eye and nearly unconscious from the headache. He remembered staggering to the lift, and vomiting on one of the engineers. He remembered McCoy dragging him to the medbay, and then - nothing.

"Ah, you're awake." Bones sidled up at last, face pinched, but an air of tension he'd been carrying around dropped away almost instantly. "Sorry 'bout that. Had to hit you with a sedative until the vaccine wore off a bit." He pulled a tricorder out of thin air, or so it appeared, and began running it up and down Jim's torso, an intent look on his face.

"I thought I heard something," Jim mumbled, feeling as if his mouth was full of marbles. Or fluff.

The words hadn't been clear, but they'd sparked a memory somewhere, buried deep behind walls Jim didn't care to breach. Something to do with his mother, Jim decided. Something she'd said, once. He was so deep in thought that he almost missed what McCoy said next.

"-explaining why we're off so early, some kind of freak lightning storm in space causing seismic activity or whatever-"

Jim's eyes snapped wide open, and the conversation blasted through his mind, a flash-fire of dark, familiar aching that accompanied his past.

_"Mom?" Jim Kirk, no more than five, peered intently up at his mother. Winona Kirk smiled down at him, gently, an emotion that looked foreign on her. Shadows clung to her face, wizening her beyond her years. Blinking, blue eyes wide, Jim tugged on Winona's pant leg and asked, "Why don't we have a dad?"_

_Pain froze on Winona's face, twisting it into a ricktus of mourning that hadn't faded since that terrible day when she'd lost her beloved husband. She knelt down next to her son, tears burning behind her lids, and swallowed the lump in her throat. She knew she would have to tell her youngest this eventually, she told herself. She'd just expected - hoped, really - it would happen later._

_"Well, Jimmy," she began, and had to pause because her voice cracked. "You know your dad was a brave, brave man, who worked on ships for Starfleet, right?" Jim nodded fiercely, his grin bright and unhindered. "Way back, when you were still in my belly, there was - an accident. A lightning storm came, and there were bad men aboard the ship that appeared, and your dad-" Winona choked on her words, but forced the remainder of the story out. "He gave up his life so we could be safe."_

_"Dad's a hero?" Jim's voice was filled with the wonder of innocence. "I wanna be like him! Go up to the stars 'n help people!" He held out his arms, expecting a hug and a hair tousle, but what he received instead was a horrified look and the sense his mom wasn't seeing... him. _

_"If you want to go up there," she whispered, "then I can't stop you. Oh, Jimmy..." But Jim was smart for his age, even then, and with a child's logic, he connected the dots. Talking about Dad, or how he wanted to go up in space too, made her look like someone had kicked her in the stomach. He didn't want his mom looking like that. So he promised himself he would find a new dream, and make her smile for real again._

Jim sucked in a breath, feeling pieces begin to snap into place. The lightning storm had come twenty five years ago, bringing with it George Kirk's death and James Kirk's life. The ship that had been carried in the lightning had destroyed the _Kelvin_, one of the most advanced ships of the time. Carried along with messages from the survivors, and evidence provided so willingly by the murderer himself to Jim, he could only arrive at one conclusion.

Jim bared his teeth to the floor, and snapped his eyes up to Bones, who was muttering under his breath about blood cell counts and medicinal things like that. As soon as his friend turned his back, Jim bolted, ignoring the painful twinges of his abused muscles and the way the halls wouldn't stop shifting as he glanced about. Bones was shouting something, but it was incomprehensible.

People blurred past him, smears of bright color against a white background, but Jim's mind was whirling in circles, and as he spotted the corner of a console, he skidded to a halt and planted himself in front of it.

"Please enter access code." Jim stabbed wildly at the keys, keeping his eyes focused up on the screen as he entered in the code. A chorus of beeps reached his ears a second later, along with the computer's voice. "Access denied."

"Activate voice control," Jim snapped. The buttons were obviously faulty. Who the hell had cleared this glitchy ship? He was going to be having words with the man. "Locate crew member Uhura."

"Denied," the computer said calmly. Jim slammed his hands down on the keys, breaking away and running a hand through his hair, ignoring how strange the sensation felt. If he could just remember the override code, dammit!

It was taking too much time. He abandoned the console, taking off at a break-neck pace around the corner where some of the lesser stations were located. If he figured right, Uhura would be there - she wasn't a senior officer, so she didn't get command posts. McCoy was yelling something as he ran, about keeping his heart rate low, but Jim discounted it. At least, he did, until McCoy was suddenly in front of him with another hypo-spray in his hands.

"Ow!" Jim yelped as Bones darted forward and the contents released with a hiss. "Why can't you _stop?_" Jim bit out, but then he caught sight of his hands. He shouted in surprise and tried to jump away before remembering that his hands were most definitely attached to his body, save that they were also swollen almost beyond belief. Bones paused in shock, mouth open to retort, but Jim had siezed the opportunity and was off again.

Ducking around corners, Jim continued on until he was in a different hall, with scores of people crowded around the various desks appropriated for the workers. Spotting the familiar trademark pony-tail of Uhura, he stumbled up to her and put one meaty hand on her shoulder. She glanced at it and jumped to her feet, ready to defend herself if it was someone unsavory. Upon spotting Jim Kirk, however, she tensed even further.

"What?" she snapped.

"Did you intercept a message before the Vulcan embassy contacted Starfleet for help?" he demanded. She looked at him suspiciously.

"Maybe."

"Tell me!"

She defiantly crossed her arms and frowned at the his condition. He was panting, his face flushed and slick with sweat. He'd been stripped of his red cadet uniform and was wearing a simple black undershirt and black pants. And, of course, his hands were puffed out to unreasonable proportions. All in all, he looked more like he needed to go to a hospital than be pumping her for information.

"Of course you did," he muttered a moment after her internal diagnosis. He spoke another sentence, but it was garbled. McCoy stepped up behind him, waving a tricorder, and his eyes went wide.

"Numb tongue?" he offered, ignoring the poisonous look Jim shot him. "I can fix that!" He vanished.

Jim closed his eyes, forcing away the emotions that wanted to clamor and cloud his judgement. Lives were at stake here. Making an effort to speak despite his tongue's unwillingness to cooperate, he managed to force out a few intelligent-sounding words. "Anything - Romulan - ship?"

"Anything about a Romulan ship?" Uhura's brows rose before she could stop herself. Jim nodded excitedly. "Yes!"

A quick motion, a flash of blue, and Jim was shouting in pain as another shot of medicine was forcibly inserted into his bloodstream. Behind him stood McCoy, looking terribly unapologetic for all the manhandling he'd been doing.

"What does this have to do with anything?" Uhura demanded, but Jim had taken off again, running like a man possessed. Bones gave merry chase, shouting at him to stay still and let him be sedated, in order to let the vaccine wear off. Uhura, however, wanted answers, and followed behind easily, though her expression foretold of a great tongue-lashing if she ever caught up.

It was only as they took a series of well-known turns, barely catching themselves instead of careening head-long into the walls, did Uhura recognize where they were going. Dread growing in her stomach, it was only confirmed as Jim sprinted through a narrow corridor and skidded to a halt on the bridge, breathing heavily. Bones only just managed not to crash into him, and Uhura swallowed, stiffening her spine. Spock was watching. She could feel his gaze. She'd felt it often enough in the language labs.

"You have to turn this ship around," Jim demanded once he'd finally regained enough breath to speak. Uhura noted, with the usual distaste that accompanied anything to do with Kirk, that he could speak competently now. She'd been hoping he would make a fool of himself and be locked in the brig until their mission was finished.

She edged around until she was standing in front of Spock's station, in order to separate herself from the two trouble-makers.

Pike stood, hands clenched into fists. "How the hell did you get on board, Kirk?" he snapped. Spock stood, willing his face into a calm expression. It would do no good now to continue with their - discussion - in public. If Jim chose to sneak on board, it was his fault, and the consequences would have nothing to do with Spock. He did his best to summon the loftiness he knew a full-blooded Vulcan carried within.

"I apologize, sir," Bones cut in. Spock felt his shoulders rise, the tension pulling his muscles taut as ancient bowstrings. Wherever McCoy was, it had become clear in the past, trouble and Jim Kirk were sure to follow. "He's under the influence of a severe medical reaction, and I brought him aboard for treatment. If you'll excuse us-"

"Bones, I'm not under any reaction-"

The two locked gazes and glared at each other before Jim stepped up on the dias the captain's chair rested on. "Sir," he said clearly, "you need to stop this ship. It's not a natural occurance - Vulcan is being attacked by Romulans." His clear and lucid gaze sought out Spock's, and Jim nodded tightly when Spock raised one brow in a silent question.

"Cadet Kirk," Pike said instead, "you've had enough attention for today. Doctor McCoy, please escort him back to the medbay, and keep him under control until we reach our destination."

"Sir, this has happened before!" Jim insisted, splaying his hands out wide, trying to look as compelling as possible. Pike needed to understand: the man aboard that ship, the Romulan, was a dangerous and sadistic individual, and they needed time to regroup and think of a different approach. Going in head first would only get them killed. Nero was a crafty son of a bitch. "The lightning storm, it appeared once twenty-five years ago! You said you did your dissertation about the _Kelvin_- it's the same circumstances: a Romulan ship appeared out a lightning storm and decimated the most advanced ship of that time. Going out there will kill us all!"

Spock stepped around Uhura - ignoring the questioning look she shot him - and leaped lightly into the fray. Pike turned to listen to what he knew Spock was going to say; his advice in this situation would be helpful. Even if he'd had relations with Kirk in the past, they were obviously not in each other's good graces, and he could count on Spock to provide an unbiased opinion on what course to pursue.

"Jim does have a grasp of this situation, Captain Pike." Too late, Spock cursed himself for using Jim's name. That provided the sense of familiarity, one which he could not afford at this point. Indeed, Pike was giving him a disappointed look, as if some expectation had been shot down. "We have - encountered this Romulan before."

Now that he thought about it, he was almost completely certain. There did remain an element of guesswork - how could they be certain it was the same captain who had ordered a lieutenant to abduct Jim, and that had reacted with such hatred towards mention of Spock? Though it did imply a strong set of emotions towards Vulcans in general.

"Cadet Kirk," Spock said suddenly, "are you implying that the safety of this ship is more important than the safety of the planet Vulcan?"

Jim wanted to curse. Of course he didn't. He might've been miserable around most of them but Spock for the seven years he'd lived there, but that didn't mean he actively wished them harm. To do so would have been stupid and counter-productive. Trust Spock to spring a question on him like that. As much as he denied it, he had a vindictive streak in him.

"Of course not," Jim ground out. "You should know that." He glared, just to give it the full effect. "But I don't think it's a wise decision to continue on our present course."

"Spock is right." That was Uhura, and she looked nervous as all attention abruptly swung to her. "About the Romulans, I mean, sir. I intercepted and translated a message from Klingons that reported a massive ship under Romulan control that attacked and destroyed at least forty-seven of their war birds." She lifted her chin, as if daring the captain himself to distrust her words.

"We're warping into a trap," Jim said. His eyes were intense, but he wasn't staring at Pike. Spock held his gaze calmly, tucking the memories that wanted to engulf him away. He had been aboard the stolen ship under the Romulan Tena, who had reported to Nero as his superior, and when he was escorted by the lieutenant to the bridge, the abject loathing he could feel emanating from the Romulan had been suffocating.

Jim had always joked that he should trust his instincts more. And now, they were screaming at him that the Romulan Nero was attacking his home, perhaps with intentions to kill.

Pike looked torn for all of a moment. Then he was barking out orders; telling the man at the linguistics station to watch for Romulan messages in Vulcan space, ordering another to contact the next ranking ship and warn them, and finally turning to Spock.

"You're sure about this," Pike said suspiciously.

"Cadet Kirk's logic is sound. Cadet Uhura's xenolinguistic talents are unmatched in all of Starfleet history." Unseen by Spock, Uhura blushed. "The evidence is supporting. The attack twenty-five years ago, our own encounters, and the current circumstances all point to a Romulan ship with hostile intentions."

"Sir," the man at the comm channel called nervously, "I'm not sure I can distinguish Romulan from Vulcan." Pike let out a frustrated breath and turned to Uhura.

"Do you speak Romulan?" Uhura nodded, adding that she (in a tone that spoke _of course_) knew all three dialects. Pike directed her to take a seat and relieve the lieutenant; he scurried away, looking for another task to redeem himself with.

"Sir!" A woman in gold spoke up. "All the other ships have arrived at Vulcan, but we seem to have lost all contact."

Jim blanched. Spock unconsciously took a step slightly in front of Jim, as if to protect him from the wrath of his captain, and only when he noticed his movement did Spock let out a soundless hiss of irritation. He was falling back on instincts that he thought he had erased when Jim had made his path clear. It seemed he was still intent on keeping his former friend safe.

"Sir?" Uhura said quietly. "No Romulan transmissions of any kind. Or any at all."

"It's because they're being attacked!" Jim said insistently. "Spock agreed with me! Why won't you trust the information I'm giving you?"

Pike just stared at him, and Jim muttered an apology before falling still. Pike called for red alert, and sirens began blaring all around them. People bustled around the three men in the center of the bridge as if they were a stream flowing around stubborn rocks, but neither Jim nor Spock nor Pike noticed or cared. They were intent on seeing the view-screen when they dropped out of warp.

Ignoring the man counting down, Jim channeled everything he had into his stare, and when the stars began to gather themselves up into individual balls of light again, he tensed.

They arrived to carnage.

Burning debris was scattered everywhere, pinwheeling around in great flaming arcs. Chunks of shattered ships were tossed around, like a child's broken plaything. Jim hardly registered anything as he made out the tiny bodies floating motionless among the wreckage, insignificant specks compared to the behemoths of the machinery.

In that split second of numbness, while the crew caught their breaths at the horrible sight before them, both Captain Pike and Sulu acted. Sulu was already at work, wrenching on the controls and firing the impulse engines as Pike shouted commands to pull the _Enterprise_into emergency evasive action. Jim could imagine the sounds of metal creaking and groaning as Sulu threw the ship forward and twisted it around so the piece of starship only scraped the topside of the engine compartments.

They were being battered on every side as Sulu managed to pull that off; the bridge shook and jerked back and forth. Jim held on furiously, teeth gritted, reminding himself that there would be a time to honor the dead later, when there was less insanity going on around them. Spock, who had fled back to his station, turned and met his eyes once again.

Jim could read the unwanted emotions in those dark depths. There was fear, and despair, but also anger, and Jim felt a moment of stabbing pity for Nero, because that bastard was definitely going down. He had dared to attack Vulcan, and he had killed Jim's classmates and Spock's students.

For a moment, a single, crystalline moment, both of the men felt something akin to respect for one another. But then the pain rushed through again, and Spock broke away, steadying himself as he remembered what Jim had said to him all those years ago, and Jim bit his lip, looking down, because he knew he'd been an asshole, but now wasn't the time for apologies; now was the time for saving people.

And then Jim and Spock caught sight of an awful, terrible ship outside, hovering like a malevolent insect above the atmosphere of Vulcan. It was black, edged with a sickly green light of flaring engines. Spines ran from the cluster in the center, all pointed outwards in one direction; Jim strangely thought of it as a squid for a moment, until the seriousness of the situation wrenched the half-smile from his face.

"They're locking targets on us!" Sulu called.

"Divert power from rear nacelles to forward shields," Pike ordered.

There wasn't enough time. The missiles - not phaser beams, as was usually expected - struck one of the connecting bridges from the engines, and alarms began screaming at once. Jim registered that information, unable to offer any help to the problem.

"Shields down to thirty-two percent, Captain! We can't take another hit like that!" Sulu cried. He was rapidly pressing keys on the screen before him, doing his duty to keep the ship running. Most of the power in the lower levels cut out, and Sulu swore under his breath.

Spock twisted around in his chair, something on his station flashing an angry orange color. "Captain," he said, his voice calm despite the worry beating inside his chest like a trapped _sehlat._"They're utilizing some kind of high-energy plasma weapon on the surface of the planet. The discharge is scrambling all our efforts at communicating with Starfleet Command."

"Load all weapons." Pike sat back in his chair, eyes narrowed. "All power to forward shields. Get ready to fire everything we've got." Under his breath, so only Jim could hear, he muttered, "Take this, you bastards."

He lifted his hand, and everyone in the room inhaled and tensed. When he dropped his arm, they would loose every bit of firepower they had. If it failed - well. Better not to think of that.

"Captain!" Uhura's voice shattered the overwhelming thickness of the pointless background chatter. "We're being hailed." Pike stiffened; behind him, Jim leaned forward, jaw set. This wasn't going to be good.

"Accept the call."

Flickering madly, the too-familiar features of the Romulan known as Nero jumped aboard the view-screen. He was older, but not by much; and little else about him had changed. Jim shifted backwards a bit, until he was mostly hidden. He wanted every advantage he could get.

"Hello," Nero said cheerfully. The crew silenced immediately, and shot each other confused looks. Only Spock understood that the facade hid the madness lurking behind such a calm exterior.

"My name is Christopher Pike, Captain of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_."

The Romulan nodded. "Hi, Christopher. I'm Nero." He tilted his head forward, in deferance to meeting a leader he could respect. For once.

"By attacking our ships, you have declared war on the Federation." Pike continued on as if Nero hadn't spoken. "Cease your assault at once, and we will arrange to discuss a compromise in a neutral location-"

"Oh, no," Nero said, giving a sharp jerk of his head. "We do not speak for the Empire. Just us, a lonely ship of wandering miners, separate in our exile. Not unlike the lone Vulcan you have aboard, hmm? Spock?"

Spock inhaled deeply and stepped forward, chin aloft, eyes gone flinty. "Nero," he said coolly.

"Hello again, _Spock_." He pronounced the name like one would a curse. "Regardless. I have disabled your transporter. I want you to follow my directions like a good little Federation monkey, understand? You will man a shuttle - by yourself - and come aboard the _Narada _for negotiations. That is all." With a wave of one hand, he cut the communications.

The outcry was immediate. All of the officers on the bridge demanded that Pike stay, ignore the orders, and fight back. He had no reason to listen to a lying - and most likely insane - Romulan. Spock, however, quietly stepped around the bickering men and women and wound up next to Jim.

"For the time being," he said in a voice almost incomprehensible under the din, "we should put aside our differences. You are aboard this ship, and obviously quite determined to help save Mother and Father." Jim didn't smile, but he nodded all the same.

"We'll go back to being pissed at each other when the time's right," Jim murmured. _Or_, he thought to himself, _when I apologize to you in a moment of relative peace and quiet. Though we might need to fight it out a bit more._ "Sound okay?" He held out his hand to shake, and this time, the wry grin didn't stand a chance at being forced back. Spock shook it with a definite air of cool toleration.

"Spock, Kirk," Pike called, and both men snapped instantly to attention, though Jim a beat slower than Spock. "Come with me." In a louder voice, he called to the room at large, "I need anyone who has advanced combat knowledge to step forward." To everyone's surprise, Sulu stood slowly and raised his hand. Pike gestured with his head and tossed over his shoulder, "Chekov, you have the con."

"Sir," Spock put in as they walked purposefully down to the lift, "I believe you should rethink this. We have little to gain by obeying his orders."

"We don't have a choice," Pike said. "They have the power to obliterate us. It's best to do as they ask." But there was a grin curling at the edges of his lips. "However," he said lightly, dancing around an ensign with an armful of PADDs, "that doesn't mean we can't give them a thank you gift."

"Sir?" Jim was confused.

"Without transporters," Pike said, raising his voice so he could be heard above the noise, "we're stuck. Can't help, can't do anything. But you, Kirk - you're not supposed to be here anyway - and Sulu and engineer Olson will perform an orbital skydive to take out that device that's blocking our communication."

"That's insane," Jim interrupted. "You're giving yourself up to give us a chance to destroy that thing? What if we fail?"

"Let's hope you don't," Pike said darkly. "But you won't. You three will do your duties, Spock will restore communications with Command, and he'll buzz them on what the hell is going on here. When you've finished, beam back in. Now, if all else fails, warp out of here and meet with the rest of the fleet in the Laurentian system. Oh," he added, in an afterthought. "And you'll need to rescue me."

"But sir-" Spock was cut off by Pike's next proclamation.

"I'm leaving you in charge of the _Enterprise_, Spock." For an instant, Pike's gaze flickered to Jim, but he looked back to Spock and his expression softened the tiniest bit. "Do by her well. Kirk will be your first officer." Sulu looked at Pike sharply, questions fit to bursting from the expression on his face, but when Spock and Jim looked at each other, they both nodded and saluted.

"Thank you, Captain."

Pike laughed, and clapped his hand on Spock's shoulder. "I'm not the captain, Spock," he said with a smile. "You are."

Still grinning despite the danger he knew he was going into, Pike caught the eyes of his fellow crew members and gestured to the shuttle.

"Let's go."

* * *

**Notes:**

Well. Spare time, eh? And writer's block for other stories. Heh. Either way, I wanted to wait a bit longer to celebrate Wish's birthday, but it's no biggie. It's been almost a year since I started this project, and the support you've given me is really encouraging. I love you all. Seriously. Also, I'm writing this whilst watching the movie, so if it's too similar, tell me to get a life and some creativity and nip the problem in the bud before it's a nasty weed. Thanks!

Remember these facts: I don't own. Please review. And thanks. Stay tuned, because next time, we've got the drill bit and Amanda Greyson's fate: will she live, or will she die? I hold the key in my hands! I feel so evil. Peace til next time!


	21. twenty one

Pike led the trio through the bowels of the starship, giving orders and reassurances out to anyone who needed them, unable to take the weariness out of his voice as he explained his situation patiently for the thousandth time. Jim envied his acceptance, and the quiet way he seemed determined to resist.

Jim had the feeling Nero wasn't going to be sitting his captain - former captain - down for a cup of synth-coffee and a nice chat, which made Pike's certainty that everything would be alright in the end that much harder to swallow. But he wasn't going to argue - he'd seen that stubborn look on Pike's face before; he'd faced it every day for the past three years, when he questioned himself if joining Starfleet was the right thing to do. If he tried, he could extend the same set jaw and hard eyes to his father, or the mental image he had of his blood father.

Swallowing tightly, Jim followed behind the other two members of the skydive team to the shuttle bay, where Pike quietly directed them to their protective suits. Jim was left, oddly enough, with the blue one. Stifling the childish urge to ask for the gold - when he actually graduated, he wasn't going into anything less than command and tactical - he slipped into it with some difficulty.

"Strap in," Pike warned. Biting back the words that sparked in his throat - _I'm not ten, thank you very much - _Jim pulled the belt across his torso, shifting the helmet from hand to hand as he snapped it in place. On both sides, Sulu and Olson did the same, the former in burnished gold and the latter in a dusky red that reminded Jim far, far too much of blood.

"You got the charges?" Jim murmured, flicking his eyes to the right.

"'Course I do," Olson replied, indignant, but then a smug smile crept onto his face and he lifted one shoulder nonchalantly. "I can't wait to kick some Romulan ass!"

With a low growl from below, Pike gently fired the impulse engines of his little craft and whisked it out of its parking spot. Pressing buttons with one hand, the other manipulating an image on the screen in front of him, he maneuvered the shuttle through the enormous doors waiting at the end of the bay. They loomed like mighty steel jaws, waiting to swing shut and crush them into dust like the insignificant bugs they were.

Shaking himself from his morbid metaphors, Jim ran over the plan in his head one more time. They were going to be dropped roughly half-way through Pike's trip. From there, they'd fall until they were a safe distance above the device, pulling their chutes and making a quick and secure landing. Once they were steady, they would detonate the charges Olson brought, disable the thing, get beamed the hell out of there, and continue on with the saving of Vulcan.

It was a perfect plan, except for the hundred or so variables that no one could predict. Jim sat back, eyes closed, but a thought occurred to him and he turned slightly to Sulu.

"So, what kind of combat training do you have?" He'd been taught that knowing one's allies was one of the most important duties a leader could have. Jim couldn't consider himself the leader - not yet - but the lesson remained the same. This way, he could aid Sulu by protecting his weak spot.

"Fencing." Jim wasn't able to conceal the surprise that flashed across his face.

With the dusky light floating in through their little shuttle, the low and crackling voice patching through the comm, and Pike's command for them to get ready, Jim could almost believe he was dreaming. Except for the fact Spock wasn't there. He was usually present, if only to silently look at him and condone him as a failure. Jim forced himself to focus on what was happening now, pulling the hood over his hair and slipping on the helmet.

The sun that so diligently half-baked Vulcan lined the atmosphere of the planet in a corona of light. Jim felt his breath catch. Even now, the sheer beauty and awe that space could inspire in him was maddening.

The three stood in concert, reaching out with padded fingers to grab at the handles that lifted from the ceiling of the shuttle. Jim clenched and unclenched his fists around the metal bar, reassured momentarily by its strength. He wasn't afraid. There were only a few things he could say he actually feared, but falling out of a shuttle to land on something relatively the size of a pin - not one of them.

"Pull your chutes as late as possible," Pike advised. "Ready." Gravity turned against them; Jim winced as he swung bodily up and hit the top of the shuttle with a loud thump. His bruises were going to have bruises. "Dropping in three. Two. One."

His hand lifted to pull the lever, but he glanced over one shoulder with a smile curving along his lips. "Good luck," he said quietly. With one harsh yank, the belly of the craft dropped away, and then they were falling.

Jim's heartbeat thundered in his ears, and if he listened hard enough, he imagined he could hear the blood rushing through his veins. Other than that and the rasped breath fogging the plastic in front of his face, it was completely silent. Beneath him stood the unmoving rocks of his home, proud and tall and just as dusty as he remembered.

A grin made its way onto his face. Even if it weren't under the best circumstances, he'd missed this place, and he was glad to be back.

He shook himself, and swung his focus back on the mission. Being distracted here - falling, where seconds meant hundreds of meters gone - could be fatal. Tucking his arms in closer, Jim felt himself begin to shoot downwards, and adrenaline was blasting through his veins, and this was _exactly _what he'd been missing since he'd left Spock, and this was _wonderful_-

"Kirk to _Enterprise_," he heard himself say. The rational part of his brain - the one that gauged exactly how fast they were going, the part not completely giddy with the chemicals spraying through his system - had moved his limbs until he was falling parallel to the structure, staying a safe distance away from the strange spines and jutting pieces along the device. "Approximately five thousand meters from target."

Across the comm, seconds after, Jim heard Sulu shout in a voice gone hoarse, "Four thousand meters!"

Olson was giggling, the strange high-pitched sounds spilling out of him unchecked. "Three thousand!"

Eyes narrowing, Jim waited another couple of seconds until they were only two thousand meters away and pulled the cord that held his parachute in place. It shot out instantly, stopping his flight in mid-air, yanking his torso back, throwing all his limbs forward like a rag doll. Sulu copied him instantly, and the two watched in dismay as the red speck that was their teammate continued downwards.

Olson was positively cackling, now, sounding for all the world like a man gone insane, but he ignored the shouts of Jim and Sulu to pull his chute, and flung himself even farther downwards, so lost to the invincible feeling he was sure he could take on the entire Romulan crew and win.

Finally, when his computer system insisted he was only a thousand meters up, Olson did as he was told, ripping the cord out as fast as the wind pressure would allow. The billowing fabric swung out, but Jim could see the erratic flight and quickly surmised the device was giving off heat, if the updraft was to be believed.

Olson tugged on the straps that should have allowed him some modicum of control, and felt fear claw through him when he dipped sharply. His legs met the metal disk with a hollow thud, and he felt two simultaneous blasts of pain spike up through his feet and ankles. Some part of him decided, correctly, that he had shattered most of the bones when he'd made contact.

Jim watched, a lump in his throat and frustration burning in his belly, as Olson bounced and was sucked downwards into - Jim felt his eyes grow wide - a line of white-hot plasma. There was no time for a scream. In one instant, Olson was there. In the next - gone. Disentigrated, less than ash.

Jim sucked in a breath, gritting his teeth, and promised himself that Olson's death wouldn't be in vain. Nor would any of the other Starfleet officers' and cadets' be, either. He saw the dirt-brown metal rising up underneath him, and braced himself for impact.

It came jarringly all the same, and as his chute was yanked backwards, Jim scrabbled for a handhold, feeling the ridges and grooves pass him by as the same sucking heat engulfed him, threating Jim with Olson's demise.

_No! I refuse to die this way! I haven't even said I'm sorry- _

With a gasp and a jerk, Jim felt the muscles of his shoulder spark and flare to life, a sharp pain slicing through. But he pushed it away, because pain meant he was alive, and had found something to hold onto, and meant he could complete his mission. He lifted one hand - his parachute rippled and tugged harder, making Jim grimace in pain - and slapped it to his chest. With a whine that didn't bode well, the automatic retract sucked the chute back into its case.

Jim fell forward with a hissed curse, the instant relief only a momentary balm for his frazzled nerves. He tugged his helmet off, not quite willing to throw it aside but needing to drop it all the same, and stood, testing his stability on this new ground. Five yards away, he could hear the expulsion of air as a hatch began to lift; with a furious cry, Jim sprinted forward.

There was no time to think; it was only act and react. The Romulan pulled a wicked-looking rifle along with him, and tried to bring it around to bear, but Jim caught his wrists and held on with all of the stubborn strength he possed. The Romulan squeezed off several rounds, the light sickly green as the _Narada_'s engines. Jim distantly heard Sulu's fearful shout, but he was kicking the Romulan in the stomach, and when he bowed his head in pain, Jim lashed out with his fists.

Jim took a step back in an attempt to grab his phaser, but the Romulan was smarter than he looked; with one eye already swollen shut, he whipped his hands forward and knocked the weapon away, sending it skittering over the sides of the platform. Jim reached blindly for another weapon and found himself beating the Romulan with his helmet. Even the green blood beginning to spatter the dark blue plastic had no effect on Jim; he was just a mindless being, fighting for his safety and the successful completion of his mission.

"Kirk," the Romulan hissed, and threw his arms out wide, trying to sweep Jim into a bear hug that he would use to toss him over the edge. Jim ducked under it, and when a second Romulan emerged, he traded blows between the two, always careful to dodge out of the way of their knuckles.

He could distantly hear the clang of boots on metal, and Jim spared a moment to see if Sulu was still alive. Flames gushed from a vent that the other man was not a foot away from, lying flat on his back and holding on for his life as the parachute mechanisms tried to reel him in. In the next instant, however, a sword unfolded from the region of his chest, and he swiped at the cables, rolling away and jumping to his feet.

Jim wanted to see if he was uninjured, but instinct shouted at him to pitch forward in a roll, so he did, and missed the stunning blow that would have been delivered to his head. What he didn't miss, though, was the kick that forced the air from his lungs and let him drop to the platform in a breathless heap. Thick hands yanked on his collar, and Jim was upright again, head spinning from the lack of air, and he backed up a few, uncertain steps.

The Romulan who knew his name advanced, a menacing look in his eyes, and Jim lunged forward, trying to rush him. He badly miscalculated, and the Romulan lifted him effortlessly over one shoulder. Fear bloomed in him - _Mom dead, Sam dead, run away, coward!_ - and Jim felt his limbs freeze, and he was helpless to stop himself as momentum urged him forward and over, only saving himself by grace of grabbing onto a pole that ran along the outer edge of the disc.

Above him, the Romulan sneered, his tattoos glistening under a layer of sweat and grime. Lifting his lips in a soundless snarl, he raised one booted foot and brought it down. Jim summoned a reserve of strength he hadn't known he'd possessed and shifted to the right six inches.

The heat from the plasma was making a steady, burning ache crawl along his shins and thighs. Grunting with the effort, he managed to move one hand out of the way of the stamping Romulan, and he offered up a sly smile. Roaring now, the furious alien brought his foot down with a lithe agility Jim didn't know he had, and heard the corresponding crunch as several of his fingers fell prey.

Jim gasped as the stabbing pain rolled through him, but he forced himself to acknowledge it and push it away. As he prepared to hurl himself upwards, hopefully knocking the legs out from under the Romulan attacker, a sudden cry of agony lanced through the air. Jim looked up, gaping.

From the nameless Romulan's chest protruded a glimmering metal sword, now coated in green blood. It slid back out just as quickly, and Jim watched in fascinated horror as the light in his eyes dimmed and he toppled forward, diminishing to less than a pinprick of dark color against the light brown background in mere moments.

"Give me your hand!" Sulu cried. With another Herculean effort, Jim transferred all his weight to the probably-broken fingers and threw his other hand up. Sulu caught it firmly, and pulled sharply. They stumbled onto the platform, steady once more, both of them panting from their actions.

"Olson had the charges," Sulu said, wiping at the sweat that was streaming into his eyes.

Jim nodded. "I know!"

Panic was two steps away, he could tell. "What do we do?" Sulu shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. The roar of the plasma device was overwhelming at first, but it had long since dropped to an annoying buzz in Jim's ears. He glanced back and forth, possibilities leaping through his mind, thought of in one instant and discarded in the next. But his eyes landed on something else, and he surged forward.

"Use this!" He picked the modified phaser rifle up, kicked the other to Sulu, and held on to the trigger with all his might. It spat energy instantly, and as Jim directed it to the center of the device, sparks flew, adding another layer of heat to the muffling blanket that already pressed close.

The vibrations that had come from the plasma flickered, as if unable to decide whether to continue or not. With one great choking lurch, however, it ceased. Jim flashed Sulu a victorious smile, but the motion of something caught his eyes.

Jim jogged over and reached out a hand, and the wind from the thing's passing washed over him. Blinking in confusion, Jim stepped back, watching as it fell. Unconsciously, his eyebrows shot up. Beneath the platform was an ugly black scorch mark, smoke coiling up in lazy spirals and the rough rock of the crust exposed. The tube dropped out of his range of sight almost immediately, but dread held him rooted to his place. Sulu watched as well, mouth open.

Unable to pinpoint the bad feeling gnawing away at him, Jim held his arm to his mouth and activated the communicator. "Kirk to _Enterprise_," he said. "They launched something into the planet, in the hole they just drilled."

As he watched, a shockwave rippled out from the blast hole, and the mountains began heaving as earthquakes made the land shudder and jump. Dust filled the air almost immediately, a choking cloud that rose quickly almost to Jim's level in the atmosphere.

"_No!_" Jim didn't recognize the cry that was torn from his own mouth until Sulu had his arms wrapped around Jim's middle, and heard the smaller man panting with the effort of holding him back. He needed to get down there, to do _something_, anything, to help-

"Sulu to _Enterprise_," he gasped. "Beam us out of here, before Kirk throws himself off!"

Jim was struggling. Sulu didn't understand; couldn't he see the way the planet was tearing itself apart? There were innocent people down there, like the Vulcan classmates he'd had for years, or the shopkeepers who'd treated him like a person and not a pet, and _Amanda and Sarek_-

There was a tinny voice telling him not to move, but the platform shook beneath his feet and then they were being dragged upwards, except for the fact that they were standing on the edge and as it moved sharply, Jim's balance was compromised. They tumbled over the edge, wind shrieking in their ears, and Jim felt Sulu being ripped away from him.

Jim stuck his arms and legs out, forcing his body to right itself, and when he'd found Sulu again, he tucked his limbs in close and shot downwards like a bullet. Sulu didn't have a chute, but Jim did; he could get them both to relative safety and then he could go and get people aboard the _Enterprise_ that needed to be kept safe.

But as he tackled Sulu and wrapped his legs around his waist and tugged once again on the cord, his parachute billowed out and was almost immediately torn away. Fear spiked through Jim, and all he could see was the ground rushing closer and closer through a sheen of wind-induced tears, and the silence was smothering.

A hazy shimmer grew into being and defined itself quickly. Spock gazed at him solemnly, one hand held out. He couldn't have been more than seventeen, Jim figured.

"It's okay, Jim," Spock murmured, in a voice that sounded like Spock and Amanda and Sarek and Sam and his mother all at once. "I forgive you."

Sulu was mouthing something incomprehensibly. Jim was silent, and he closed his eyes, something like a smile on his face. _It's okay. He's not angry at me anymore._

Except-

Except he was mad. Angry, in fact, and infuriated, and hurt. Jim knew he was. Otherwise, he wouldn't have said what he did to Jim in the shuttle bay on Earth. Jim's eyes snapped open, and as the rocks began to distinguish themselves, surrounded by scrubby plants, he screamed. It was a scream of rage, of defiance, and he was still screaming when the popping lights began to surround them, and lava plumed next to them-

-the light was all he knew, and his voice cracked-

-and then they landed with a crash, and Jim felt the pad underneath them shatter. Sulu was next to him, sucking in air so fast Jim knew he would be hyperventilating soon, and he rolled away and clutched his head in his hands. "Thanks," he croaked.

"No problem." Jim forced himself to his feet, and found Spock standing at the base of the transporter chamber, teeth clenched and nostrils flared. The acting captain took one step upwards until he was at Jim's height level. Jim was startled to see the amounts of worry and fear and anger in Spock's dark eyes; he'd figured Spock had managed to be a better Vulcan while he was gone, but perhaps he was mistaken.

Then, in a move that startled the both of them, Spock pulled Jim forward and clasped his hands around Jim's arms right near the bend of his elbow, squeezing so tightly Jim felt his bones creak. "If you ever do that to me again," Spock choked out in a low voice, "I will lock you in your quarters until we are back at Earth." Jim smiled faintly, and loosed himself from Spock's grasp.

Spock had watched quietly as Jim and Sulu had completed their mission despite the loss of Olson and the explosives. When Jim had reported the strange object being launched to the planet's surface - or, more accurately, the hole in the planet's surface - Spock snapped out an order for Chekov to analyze it.

What he had found ripped away all tenuous threads Spock might have held over his control, and the reports from the transport technicians had only shattered it more completely. Not only was a black hole growing inside his home planet, threatening the six billion lives that lived there, Jim was falling out of control without a parachute, and his signature couldn't be locked on.

In that same instant, a hammer blow of pain landed just above his left ear, the manifest location of Jim's emotions, and Spock had stalked out of the bridge, only barely able to keep himself from running full-speed to the transporter himself. Chekov ran in milliseconds after he had, and in one brilliant move, he had rescued both Jim and Sulu. The relief he felt was drowned only by the pressing urge to save his mother and father.

"What's going on down there?" Jim asked tightly, his voice rough.

"Nero has created a singularity that will soon engulf the planet in a black hole," Spock replied, and gestured to the stunned crew to regather themselves and enter in the coordinates he rattled off. He crouched down onto one of the undamaged pads, charging his phaser in the same smooth motion. "I am going down to rescue the members of the Vulcan High Council, among which will be Mother and Father, so that the essence of our culture will be preserved. Energize."

"I'm coming with you." Jim knelt down next to him, one hand on Spock's shoulder, and before Spock could object, the crackling transporter beam had surrounded them both.

They emerged into being on a steep slope, next to which a ravine yawned that glimmered with heat. It was, in fact, not all that far from the little plateau that Spock and Jim had affectionately called their spring, where they went to escape the world.

Spock took off instantly, with all the grace of a desert creature in his home environment. He jogged lightly up the rocks, ignoring the crumbling cliffs beyond. People were much more important than items, or places. Jim followed hot on his heels, face red. After years off Vulcan, any tolerance for the heat or low atmosphere he'd built up had long since gone.

Slower than Spock would have liked, they made their way up, dodging the falling boulders that dropped around them. As soon as they hit level ground, Jim stopped to stare, eyes wide, at the sacred cave that all of Vulcan's leaders could hold in times of emergencies. Spock darted in, and Jim shook himself from his reverie, following him.

The narrow walls of the cave pressed in on the two, but Spock paid it little heed. Instead, he stumbled to a halt in the cavern, Jim bouncing off his back with a muttered curse. Spock absorbed the scene before him - the elders, gathered in a ring around the statue that supposedly held the _katra _of Surak - and wasted no time in bounding up the steps.

"Spock?" That was Amanda's voice. "Jim?"

"There's no time," Spock said, and gestured towards the entrance. "There are only seconds left until the planet destroys itself. We must evacuate!"

Heads turned. In a silent conversation too quick for Jim to follow, they had consulted with one another and decided to follow the half-blood and his human friend. They clustered around the pair, and Spock whirled around, a bundle of containted energy, jumping down the stone steps and waving the Vulcans onward. Jim stayed behind, urging stragglers to move a bit faster, and when he was satisfied, he caught up to Spock, trading a weary look.

Neither turned when the seismic activity upset the likeness of Surak and it toppled forward, killing someone, or when the roof of the tunnel began to collapse and a falling chunk of rubble flattened two more. All Spock had eyes for were his parents; Jim, the same. Spock had his arm around Amanda, his hand grasping hers, urging her forward, to keep her from lagging behind. Her headscarf fluttered and curled around her son, tricked by the wind into doing so.

Jim was last to come out, and for a painful moment, Spock feared he would not come out at all. But there he was, hair pasted to his sweaty forehead, black uniform covered in dust, and he smiled proudly when Spock's eyes met his, as if daring him to ask why he was so late. But Spock did not; instead, he flipped open his communicator and said, as calmly as he could manage, "Spock to _Enterprise_. Get us out now!"

Chekov replied in the affirmative, followed swiftly by the order not to move. Spock didn't flinch as Jim's hand wrapped around his forearm, or when the crackling beam of energy began to surround them.

Amanda turned slowly, her eyes wide, mouth open in a silent call.

Time slowed.

All Spock could comprehend was the look on his mother's face as the ground dropped out from under her, the way her hand flew up and she begged without words for her son, her Spock, to save her. Spock held his arm out, and the world lost its axis, and all thoughts of logic and control fled.

Something separated from him and dived forward, all concern for his own life apparently gone, as lost as his sanity. Jim grabbed Amanda's wrist, slamming into the ground with a pained grunt, his free hand digging into the sheet rock. Spock watched in horror as the flashes died out from around them, and then he was being torn apart and reassembled in the _Enterprise_'s transporter room, one arm still aloft.

He took a step forward, and waited five more painful seconds that lasted an eternity; then Jim materialized, six feet off the ground, holding onto Amanda's arm as if it were his lifeline. He fell with a startled shout, a second pad cracking beneath him. Groaning, he curled inwards, but Amanda knelt down next to him. Spock held the urge to burst into relieved tears, smoothing his face into one of aloof gratitude. Even that, though, couldn't stop his eyes from widening or his breath from heaving in and out of his lungs as if his mother truly had perished.

"Why, Jim?" Amanda said, stroking his hair, her voice full of wonder and gratitude and something edging towards scolding. "You could have died."

"I wasn't about to lose my mother again," he whispered. His blue eyes were bright and swimming with unshed tears, both from pain and the sense that he had finally, finally made up for the mistake he'd made so long ago, in leaving his blood mom to rot in their house while he fled like a selfish child.

Amanda bowed her head and wept softly, the sound the only in the room besides that of the whirring machinery.

Chekov had his head in his hands, fingers tightening painfully through his curly hair. He was so sure that he had failed, and that the woman had been lost, and for her to be Spock's mom on top of it all! Spock might have been Vulcan, but familial love transcended emotionlessness. If someone had hurt Chekov's mother, or failed to bring her to safety, Chekov would have made sure they hurt just as bad as he would, upon knowing of the death.

But he hadn't done that. He had saved her. Her and Jim Kirk both. It was a wonder he didn't keel over from the stress.

* * *

Spock sat in the medbay next to Jim's bed, in full sight of Amanda and Sarek. With despair and mourning in his heart, he watched as Vulcan - the planet he had grown up on, the planet he had known as home, the planet he had made his first true friend on - was consumed from the inside out, flashes of red lightning lashing out and dragging in the rocks he had ran on, the plants he had studied, the house he had slept in.

"Acting Captain's log, stardate 2258.42. There has been no word from Captain Pike; I therefore classify him as a war hostage of the Romulan criminal Nero." He swallowed, throat bobbing, and on the bed next to him, Jim shifted uncomfortably. McCoy said something to him, though, and Jim shrank back, holding his bandaged hand close to his bandaged chest. "Nero, who has destroyed Vulcan, my home planet, and murdered close to all of its six billion inhabitants."

Sarek bent his head to murmur something comforting to his wife; Amanda shook him off with a firm word and a gentle press of her fingertips to his.

"The essence of our culture has survived, thanks to the elders of the High Council. However, other than that, I estimate no more than ten thousand of my people have survived." His voice stopped, though Spock felt no emotion to cloud it, nor did he consciously want to. "I am now a member of an endangered species."

The words were bitter ashes in his mouth, and finally, Spock could see what he was feeling. Regret, pain, loss, and the mental backlash as every Vulcan projected their own unstable emotions onto each other, looking for the temple of concentration that the had planet provided.

Spock stood, unable to take the misery that was being quadrupled in the area. Clenching his hands so they would stop shaking, he strode easily towards the lift, and two sets of footsteps followed. Taking a deep breath, Spock stepped through the doors and turned; both Jim and Uhura slid in behind him.

Jim leaned againt the wall, panting; he'd snapped several of his ribs after his two unplanned falls, and the burns along his arms and legs itched under the bandages. But Uhura locked eyes with Spock, and, never breaking that contact, she pressed the emergency stop button. The lift shuddered to a halt.

She took Spock's face in her hands, smoothing them down his cheeks, and wrapped her arms around him, murmuring apologies into his shirt. Spock bore it with the patience of a stone bearing the wind, and it wasn't until she lifted her face to kiss him that he moved. Gently setting his hands on her shoulders, he carefully backed away.

Blushing fiercely, she dipped her head down. "But I thought-?"

"No." Spock was calm, and his tone was apologetic. "I am sorry for giving you that impression, Nyota. It was not what I intended." Ignoring the way Jim's brows rose in interest, he continued to look at her.

"Tell me what you need," she whispered, running her hands up and down his arms. "Anything. Please."

"I need the crew to continue performing admirably." No inflection, to show how much it _hurt _that most of his race was dead. No tone to give her the idea he needed physical comfort. His father would have been proud, Spock thought distantly.

Uhura nodded once, then again, and started the lift up. "Okay," she said softly. "Okay." Throwing one last, teary glance over her shoulder, she passed through the open doors and walked off, head bowed.

Jim hobbled around at once and stopped the lift again. Spock just looked at him, absorbing every detail he could: the way the lights shone on his dirty blond hair, the gleam in his blue eyes, the set of his jaw, and the way he curled around himself to hide the source of his pain. Spock felt the grief strike him like a physical weight, then, and he gasped and shook.

"It's okay," Jim murmured, and he was the one to initiate the contact this time, threading his fingers through Spock's hair as he wrapped his arms around the taller man. "Well, it's not okay, and it never will be, but I'm here. Amanda's here, and Sarek's here. We're okay. We'll get through this. We'll make Nero pay for this." And Spock, damn his human emotions, began to tremble, tears burning and crawling behind his lids. The tips of his ears flushed in embarrassment, and if Jim had looked up from the crook of Spock's neck, he would have seen they were a dark green, like pine trees in winter.

He didn't want to cry. He hadn't cried since he was a child. But Jim's own sadness - that some of the Vulcans he'd known were gone now, too, along with all those cadets he'd known who'd lost their lives in a doomed endeavor to help a doomed planet - rebounded and ached above his ear, and then Spock swallowed his tears and held on as if the world were falling down around them again. Jim didn't protest as the tightness of Spock's grip made his freshly healed ribs ache all over again, not when his low sobs were doing the same.

It didn't matter that Jim was cruel to do this to him, when he knew Spock was still angry, and now grieving. But at the moment, all Spock cared about was a familiar and welcome man who knew what he felt, and felt it too, and didn't scorn him for it, and didn't try to coddle him. There was still an apology owed, Spock promised himself as Jim began to weep softly. They would still talk about that.

But right now, there was just their mingled sorrow, and the warmth of their bodies pressed together. And that was enough for him.

* * *

**Notes:**

Yay, happy birthday Wish! A year ago today I started this little project. You all are the best people in the world. And hugs make everything better. So there.

Artwork spotlight time: I should have done this a long time ago, so here we are. From keter; http:(slashslash)i35(dot)tinypic(dot)com/ohmo8n(dot)jpg. From The-Archaic-One; http:(slashslash)point-ofno-return(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/Wish-155571582. View and enjoy, because I certainly did!

I don't own Star Trek (unless you count the DVD and the soundtrack on my iPod). Please leave a review, if you love me, or if you want to squee about the elevator scene. Peace!


	22. twenty two

_I've been in worse situations. I've been in worse situations._

Christopher Pike shifted slightly and winced as pain flared along his stiff joints. If only he could get up, stretch, maybe walk around a little... but the chances of that happening were about as slim as they could get. The heavy bands that kept him bound to the interrogation chair creaked faintly. They were old, obviously. If he weren't so sore already, he'd try and break them with excessive straining.

_If, if, if. Stop making excuses for yourself, Pike._

Not that anyone would blame him. If one of the greenhorns were to be in his position, they'd be a blubbering mass of tears or dead. The inch or so of water around him - he was set up in a shallow depression under one of the tanks, he figured, which explained the leak - reflected the sickly lights back upwards, surrounding him in a corona of white. And, of course, he couldn't forget the various wires, tubes, and other accessories decorating the walls.

_I'll be lucky if I get out of here with my lungs intact. There has got to be some kind of organ-eating bacteria growing in all this sludge._

Faint splashing grabbed his attention. In the stark silence, hearing someone approach was easy. Probably meant to unsettle him, Pike decided as he tried to find a more comfortable position strapped to a glorified board. The way the cavernous ship was structured, it shattered sound and sent the echoes racing through the lower decks. From the volume, he guessed it was going to be another minute or two before his captor arrived.

_More's the pity. I could use some entertainment._

"Hello, Christopher." That voice, at least, was familiar. He'd been hearing it bark orders and shout commands and scream death threats for hours. Pike restrained the urge to roll his eyes, instead finding the face of Nero and nodding as best he could.

"Nero."

"I hope you're enjoying your stay here," Nero continued, his markings giving his face a sinister edge. It unsettled Pike, but the feeling was easily squashed. He was in the lesser position. He could not afford to give up any information. Any advantage Nero gained was because Pike gave it up himself. "If you don't mind, I was thinking we could have a nice talk."

Pike didn't answer. He didn't need to. Even though he hadn't been in Nero's grasp for long, he had already pegged the Romulan as the type who preferred to listen to himself talk and only wanted an actual response every other question or so.

"I need," Nero said in a deadly tone, "the sub-space frequencies of Starfleet's border protection units, specifically those surrounding Earth."

Flat on his back, short of breath, Pike felt his fear jump about ten notches. He was especially careful not to let any of it show on his face, though. Sweat beading on his brow, Pike clenched his jaw.

"Christopher." Now it was chiding. Like Nero was talking to a small child. "Answer my question."

Pike wasn't able to restrain himself from snarling, "No, you answer for the genocide you just committed! The Vulcans were a peaceful race; they did no harm to you or your men."

Nero bared his teeth, alien strength just barely restrained. His expression promised murder for anyone who dared to defy him; for the first time since the ordeal began, Pike wondered if he was destined to die here in this vessel. He trusted Spock - Jim, not so much - to rescue him when the time was right, but what if Nero's temper got the better of him? Would he kill a wellspring of information because Pike refused to play his game?

"No, no, no," Nero hissed, backing up a step and clasping his hands behind his back. Restlessly, he began to pace around the still form of Pike. "I _prevented _genocide. You see, in my time, where we come from, this is a, a simple mining vessel. I chose a life of _honest labor_to provide for myself and my wife... and, soon, my child." He reached up, flipping on a light, and near Pike's shoulder a small holo-form appeared.

It was a young woman; Romulan, of course. Thick auburn hair fell to her shoulders in gentle waves, obscuring her pointed ears. She had only a few markings, showing to the world that the people she had lost were only of vague importance to her or so distantly related she was obligated out of familial relations to mourn their passing. And, of course, her belly was swollen. Pregnant, she glowed with happiness, as if the world and all its opportunites were opening up before her with the birth of her first child.

Nero gazed at the image forlornly, his face twisted for an instant in a mask of grief. But he carefully tucked away her smile, her face, her laughter, and continued with his story.

"While we were off planet - doing our jobs - we were forced to stand by as your Federation did _nothing _to help our families, our people. Your Federation waited and watched as the Romulan Empire died in flames and our planet broke in half! Spock didn't help us, as Starfleet promised he would; he _betrayed _us!"

Pike shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. "No," he said in a low, soothing voice. "No, you're - you're confused." What was Nero thinking? Either he was delusional, or psychotic. Pike was leaning towards the latter. "Romulus hasn't been destroyed. It's - it's out there, fine, and this destruction hasn't happened-"

"It has happened!" Nero roared, springing forward so his face was all Pike could see. "I _watched _it happen! I _saw _it happen! Don't tell me _it hasn't happened_!" He broke away, panting, cheeks flush with color, though which Pike couldn't see. "I know it did," he whispered, more to himself than anything. "I know it did."

Pike swallowed, his throat gone dry. Nero was insane. Romulus was - not on speaking terms with the Federation, but it was still there. The planet hadn't suffered anything that he'd heard of besides a recent strain of some virus that had shut down the trading lines for six weeks. As far as everyone in Starfleet knew, the Romulans were alive and kicking.

Nero's wife continued to smile and rub her stomach tenderly next to him. Pike felt physically ill as he contemplated the repurcussions of this Romulan believing his planet had been obliterated. He would be mad with grief, blinded by a need for vengeance-

_Splash, splash. _Nero was pacing again, at a safe distance so Pike couldn't see his eyes, just the outline of his lithe form. "I promised myself," Nero told the room at large. "I told myself I would haveretribution for the death of everything I once loved. I planned for, for twenty-five years! Planned how I would take my revenge against the Federation. I forgot what it was like to be normal." His head tilted towards the holo-form of his wife. "I forgot everything but the pain." He stepped closer, under the light, and murmured, "The pain droveme. It droveus all. And now, every Vulcan still alive shares that pain with us."

Pike closed his eyes, blocking out Nero's face for the time being. He didn't want to hear this - whatever twisted fantasy he had come up with to explain and excuse his actions. That he felt the need to kill almost everyone for a genocide that _hadn't taken place _was... awful. There was a better word for it, but his mind shied away from it. He was too distracted with the increasing discomfort his physical body was experiencing.

"But not only that." Nero bent over Christopher's face, not quite touching him as he sought to regain the Captain's attention. "I want to create a Romulus that can live free from the influence of your corrupt and prejudiced Federation. Which is why I will destroy every remaining Federation planet left in this galaxy." Nero grinned his shark grin. "Starting with yours. Then, and only then, will Romulus be safe."

Pike turned his head away, focusing instead on something mundane, trivial. Anything to get his mind off the situation. "Then we have nothing left to discuss."

The murderous expression was back. How did any scientist believe that Romulans came from Vulcan descent? Pike spied out of the corner of his eye Nero walking away, hands fisted at his sides. Nero was an open book. It would have been easy to manipulate him, if the circumstances had been a little more in Pike's favor.

"You will give me the frequencies for Earth's defence systems." And then Nero was turning, tongs in hand, with something wriggling and black caught in their silver grasp. "Centaurian slugs. I hear they're quite unpleasant." The black thing - slug - chitteredangrily, its mandibles clacking. "It latches onto your brain stem and emits a chemical that forces their victim to answer any question asked." He held the slug above Pike's mouth, teasing it over his lips.

Pike clamped his mouth shut, terror beating painful wings inside his chest. It wouldn't do for a captian to lose his composure now.

"Frequencies please, _sir_." What had they been taught? Name and rank. If you want to share information, repeat your name and rank. Listen to how the syllables flow together. Imagine the numbers in your mind's eye. It'll help get your mind off the torture and piss off your captors all in one. Though the last bit might not have been terribly smart. Pike did just that; his name and number flowing past his lips, even though his voice shook.

And then someone had grabbed his hair, forcing his head back, and there was something in his mouth, pulling his jaw down, and all Pike knew was pain.

* * *

Spock did not know how long he remained with Jim in the lift. All he could comprehend was the sensation of arms around him, a hand clenching in his hair, tears soaking his shirt, and Jim trembling against his chest. The crying abated not too long after they had embraced; Jim was left to wearily shudder against his closest friend.

Despite everything that Jim had done, he had gone to Spock for comfort. That fact alone baffled him. He had made it perfectly - painfully - clear that he didn't want anything to do with Jim and his hypocritic ways, or his sparkling blue eyes filled with laughter, or the hair that had darkened from the color of wheat to a light brown, or the smile that promised adventure and mayhem. No, he didn't want anything to do with Jim Kirk.

But Jim still came to him. Spock found his mind wandering back to that single thought however later as he was on the bridge, one hand tucked in the other with both behind his back. Mindless chatter filled the formerly empty silence.

They had been quiet as he had returned. Nyota had averted her eyes, still - doubtless - remembering her failed advance towards him in the lift. Maybe she was wondering what Jim could offer that she could not. He smacked that thought down as soon as it popped up and ordered the bridge to continue going about their business.

"What is their next target?" Spock said calmly. He was in control of his emotions. If they thought losing almost everything ever precious to him - _Ancestors, my home is gone _- would affect his duties, then they were wrong.

Of course, Nyota replied. "Their projected trajectory aims for Earth. It suggests no other destination." He walked past her, nodding to acknowledge that he had heard and understood. That made perfectly logical sense. Vulcan and Earth were the two oldest planets in the Federation; they had, in fact, started it. By destroying one, suddenly crippling the other, it made sense to go after the wounded target.

Walking past the other stations, Spock swallowed as he spotted Jim lounging in the Captain's chair as if he owned it. Same arrogance, same stubborn will. Spock wondered if Jim knew the harsh lighting made him look far older than he was. Much more solemn. Weary, even. Vain as Jim could be, Spock didn't think it would be prudent to mention it at the time.

"Get out of the chair!" McCoy - naturally; where Jim was, the doctor was never far behind - snapped, one hand darting out to deliver a slap upside Jim's head. Despite the fact Spock knew the doctor meant well, he tensed ever so slightly.

Jim pouted, but reluctantly did so. "If they're heading for Earth," he said, hands in his pockets and eyes locked on a spot just above Spock's shoulder, "we have to assume that any Federation planet is at risk."

"If ze Federation iz vhat zey are trying to destroy," Chekov pointed out, "vhy didn't zey destroy us?"

Next to him, Sulu snorted. His face was pale except for the wounds he'd sustained during the fight on the drill; they glowed an angry red. "Why waste the weapons?" he replied sardonically. "We obviously weren't a threat to him. All he wanted was Captain Pike."

"That is not true." Spock continued walking around the bridge, face smooth, keeping his hands clasped together behind his back to hide the way they shook ever so slightly. "I... have encountered Nero before. He has expressed a personal vendetta against me. It is likely he did this to - satisfy that. I highly doubt once he realized I was aboard this ship he would have even considered destroying it."

Spock had to school himself before he could face the crew. Everyone had varying looks of pity splashed on their faces - so easy, so open to read. When they began to realize he refused to accept their pity and acknowledge what he had lost in public, then they would grow angry. Humans were predictable.

Except Jim. Jim, who stood there with the most trusting expression curving his features, and Spock filed that image away in a secret place to remember fondly when Jim undoubtedly decided to follow his childish instincts and run away again. Jim caught his eye and smirked.

_Nero is going down._

That thought wasn't his. Spock blinked, but the Voice did not say anything else. The number of times he had heard anything in his mind unfamiliar had grown significantly since the fight with Jim, most of them making some kind of sarcastic statement he could fit Jim's face to perfectly. But now was not the time to be deliberating on why, exactly, that was happening; Dr. McCoy was inquiring about something.

"And how the hell did they get that technology, anyway?" he muttered incredulously. One hand was rubbing at his chin. "That's way too advanced for Romulan tech."

"The engineering required to artifically create a black hole may provide the answer," Spock said. He stood in front of the view-port, looking past the reflections of interior lights to the empty space where Vulcan once was. Something clenched in his chest - grief. There was no time to feel grief, Spock ruthlessly told his emotions. So leave me alone. "Theoretically, the technology used to make these black holes could be used to create a tunnel through space-time."

"So Nero is from the future," Jim mused aloud. "That... makes sense."

McCoy was not as receptive. "Dammit, man, I'm a doctor, not a physicist!" he exploded. "Are you actually suggesting that these - insane Romulans are from the _future_?"

Spock turned, one eyebrow arched. "If you eliminate the impossible," he quoted, "whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." Honestly. The man had gone through schools, hospitals, and had been a roommate to Jim. If anything, McCoy should know that lesson better than most of the other cadets aboard.

"Well, isn't that poetic," McCoy muttered, stalking back and forth on the platform.

"So Nero's from the future. He d-destroyed Vulcan." Jim couldn't conceal the stutter in his voice, nor the wince as he said it. "So what does he want with Pike?"

No one bothered to reprimand him. Sulu pointed out, "He's one of the highest ranking captains in Starfleet. He knows all the details of Starfleet's defences, especially Earth's."

There was a collective moment of silence as everyone digested that thought. Their captain - who held the Earth figuratively in his grasp - was now doubtlessly undergoing torture at the hands of an insane Romulan from the future who had a weapon capable of sending entire planets into black holes.

The crew blanched.

"We need to get him back," Jim said, hopping down and jogging over to Spock's side. "Storm the ship, take it out, get Pike back."

"We don't have the firepower to take on that vessel," Uhura snapped, standing and crossing her arms. "Or did you already forget about the other ships that he destroyed without even lifting a finger?"

The expression on Jim's face - only Spock could see, because Jim had his back turned to the bridge - spasmed into one of barely concealed mourning. He had had friends on those ships, too, damn it. For Uhura to go around pretending he didn't want to think of the losses they'd incurred was like a kick to the balls. But Jim smoothed it back into place. There would be another time to honor their passing, he promised himself. Being with Spock had helped - more than he had thought it would, actually - but it wasn't enough. Not yet.

"If ve vant to find zat ship," Chekov said with a sigh, "it vould haff to drop out into space around us. Ve haff no vay of tracking it now." He morosely tapped his screen, running the diagnostic check despite the past three failures.

"How about getting engineering crews to boost the warp power?" Jim suggested, eyes flicking over his former best friend anxiously. Spock could pretend he was an unfeeling robot all he wanted, but Jim knew better. Hunched shoulders, clasped hands, set jaw - all signs Spock was hiding something.

But they had bigger things to worry about.

"All available engineers are repairing the lower decks. Radiation leaks and hull breeches are the least of their concerns at the moment." Spock turned away, glancing over the crew. "We need to meet up with the remainder of the fleet."

"No," Jim said sharply. Spock lifted one brow in a silent question.

"The fleet will allow us the advantage of numbers against Nero," Spock pointed out. "As Lieutenant Uhura has already mentioned, we do not have the weapons systems to compare to his."

"By then, Nero will have already warped to Earth and sucked that down as well!" Jim growled. His agitation brought energy, and his fingers tapped against his thighs in a silent rhythm. "We need to be unpredictable. He's from the future; he'll know our first move is to regroup!"

"Assuming, of course, Nero knows about this future." Spock stepped closer to Jim, adopting a condescending expression. Jim should have known this. He was the most intelligent human in Starfleet, second only to himself. "Nero's very presence has altered this timeline, beginning with the attack on the _U.S.S. Kelvin _and ending with the events that have taken place today. Everything he has done, from my understanding, is completely new and had not happened in the future Nero came from. We have no way of knowing what he knows and what he does not; our best option is to report to the rest of the fleet and begin planning a counterattack."

"So, like, what - an alternate reality?" McCoy said, disbelief heavy in his tone.

Spock spared him a glance, then returned his attention to Jim. "Precisely. Anything our futures from that timeline provided is now obsolete. We have begun a new chain of events from which the outcome is completely unpredictable in itself." Without breaking eye contact, he finished, "Mr. Sulu, plot a course to the Laurentian system. Warp factor three."

Jim's eyes narrowed and he took a step forward, closing the gap between the two. "You're making a mistake," Jim said lowly. "I'm trusting my instincts, Spock."

"I believe in logic," Spock said simply. "Logically, the first thing we should do is go to the Laurentian system and move from there to protect the remaining Federation planets, Earth first and foremost."

"We need to get Captain Pike!" Jim snapped. "He ordered us to rescue him. Now that we know what kind of information he has, it's become the most important thing for us to do!"

"Captain Pike ordered us to rendevouz with the fleet."

Jim let out a barked curse and kicked the nearest station. Hissing in pain, now, he walked in a tight circuit for a moment before returning back to the patiently waiting Spock. The half-Vulcan was used to such emotional outbursts from Jim. He would collect himself quickly.

"You're a captain, now, Spock, and you have responsibilities!" Jim snarled. "You can't just leave him for that bastard to torture!"

"Captain Pike is a trained Starfleet official," Spock countered calmly. "If he could not handle indefinite torture, he would not have been promoted. And yes, I do know I am a captain, and I do believe I understand what that entails: I will not lose a ship's worth of officers for an attempted rescue. We are going to the Laurentian system."

Spock could see Jim's temper flare. He was protective to a fault; it had gotten him in trouble on Vulcan, and it was only going to bring him more trouble here. Jim shouted, "I won't let Captain Pike die!" And instead of understanding that he had lost this argument, he ducked around Spock, neatly tripped an ensign, and rolled onto the command platform. From there, he worked his fingers into a gap in the paneling, yanked it off with a curse, and began tearing wires out.

"Jim, stop!" McCoy yelled, grappling with his friend, but Jim whirled around and executed a near-perfect wrist grab, tossing McCoy down the stairs.

Spock waited another moment, to see if there were any other options. To his dismay, he could think of none. If he allowed Jim to continue with his hot-wiring of the ship's controls, then Spock would be discredited as a captain and any slim chance of rescuing Pike might be destroyed. If he went through with his plan, then any trust Jim had begun to rebuild in him would be instantly shattered. But Spock was not one to put emotions before duty; silent as a wraith, Spock darted to where Jim was furiously working away and clamped his fingers around Jim's neck.

He had just enough time to see the betrayel flash in Jim's brilliant blue eyes before they became hazed and dull. Limp and unconscious, Jim fell to the floor, the thin wires he had been manipulating sliding from his fingers.

Spock knelt down and attempted to rearrange Jim into a more comfortable position. Unlike all those years ago when Jim had been ambushed by bullies, Spock had performed the nerve pinch correctly. He would not be waking up within minutes; more than likely he would be out until they reached the fleet.

McCoy's mouth was hanging open in shock. He was kneeling on the floor, one hand to his head, staring at the cold indifference to which Spock had taken Jim down. It wasn't like McCoy thought Jim had the right idea - far from it. But to see Spock knock him out so quickly without bothering to communicate was stunning at best.

"What - but - he - Spock!" McCoy spluttered. He gestured to Jim, then back to the Acting Captain, and finally finished with a frustrated and wordless half-shout.

"Is there something you wish to say to me, Doctor?" Spock said calmly. Like he hadn't just put his best friend under for a good two hours. Like he wasn't torn up about it at all. Not that he'd show it on his face, or in his body language. He was just as robotic as ever.

"Damn it!" McCoy shouted. "Do you have any idea what the hell you just did?" He pointed again towards Jim's unconscious form.

_That _did something. A ripple passed over Spock's entire demeanor, changing him from the cool and calculating half-Vulcan to a being with barely controlled fury lurking in every tense muscle, every stiff limb. McCoy found himself silent, but even his fear didn't stop him from narrowing his eyes in disgust.

The moment was broken quickly by two security officers. Spock spared a moment to give his assent to the pair before they hooked Jim's flopping arms around their shoulders and began dragging his unresponisve body off to the brig, where he would be unable to lose his composure and attempt to hijack the ship again. Well, at least in front of the crew. He could shout and pound away against the walls for all he wished, he wasn't coming out until they had met up with the remainder of the fleet and that was that.

"Do you have anything else to say, Doctor?" Spock said, his tone verging on downright frosty. McCoy simply glared and shook his head, watching the lift door close as the guards escorted Jim out.

Spock regretted his actions almost the instant things began to calm down on the bridge, but he took a moment to steady himself by running through some simple algorithms in his head and breathing in and out to the count of seven. As much as he wanted to simply _talk _- get everything out in the open and stop this ridiculous dance they were doing around each other - what Jim had done was accountable to treason. If Spock didn't find a way to handle this, Jim could be discharged from Starfleet permanently.

"Helmsman." Sulu straightened from his slack-jawed and slouched position, gathering his wits in a snap.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Set course for the Laurentian System, warp factor three."

"Aye, Captain. Lower decks need about ten minutes to get things patched up enough that they'll feel safe for warp." Spock nodded his understanding and slowly made his way to the view-port.

The stars were beautiful. They always had been. Spock remembered a time fondly when he and Jim had spent the night on the roof of their home, Spock identifying the constellations and relaying the long-sedentary but supposed origins of the beings that allegedly lived within them. He had always been so... innocent. Vibrant. A colorful contrast to Spock's drab home.

It was like his wish really did come true. But that was simply childish thinking, that bestowing a request upon a far-distant sun or star would somehow make it that much easier to happen. Like he honestly had been expecting a friend to come along and take to him like I-Chaya previously had, before his complete foolishness and pride had ended up with his father's pet killed. Wishing wasn't logical, and Spock was Vulcan to the core.

Then why, he wondered silently, staring out into the dark recesses of space, did betraying - and being betrayed by - Jim pain him so?

* * *

"Go into Starfleet," he muttered. "It'll be great. You'll be an officer, you'll get a ship. Loads of fun."

The two security personnel grunted simultaneously as they lifted the Kirk guy over a slight lip on the floor. Kirk didn't so much as blink, shift, moan, or anything. He was so out of it, had there been a little more time and opportunity, the pair would have seriously taken advantage of his state. Kirk had, at one point, dropped a paint bomb into their quarters and dyed all of their clothes - and themselves, not to mention - a shocking shade of red. Like they didn't already know.

"Shut up," the other one huffed. "'S yer own fault for not scoring high enough or picking another division before the damn deadline." He lifted one shoulder, tossing Kirk's lolling head forward so it wasn't leaning on him any longer than absolutely necessary.

"I thought we'd at least be doing something interesting," the first one said instead, choosing to ignore the pointed look his partner was showing. Yeah, it was his own fault, but since when did he turn into his mother? "Not hauling stupid bitches around like Kirk."

"Though didja hear how panicked that Uhura chick was on the comm when she paged us?" the second asked, eyebrows raised. "Seriously, thought she was gonna bust something. Screaming for someone to get the hell up there while Kirk and Spock started fighting."

"Who do ya think would win? Kirk or Spock?" The brig couldn't be more than a floor or two away, could it? Or had they gotten turned around somewhere? Damn, this stupid ship was too effing big for only four hundred crewmembers!

"Spock. Shit, man, he's Vulcan. He knocked Kirk out in, like, two seconds flat." The second man, the tiniest bit taller than the first, had to duck under a low-slung doorway. "Hey, I've got a good idea."

"I'm listenin'."

"Remember when Kirk played that stupid prank on all of us in security dorms? Turned everything red, for a better target he said?" The first man scowled blackly, but nodded.

"Get to yer fucking point."

"Well, 's 'bout time we got him back, don't ya think?" The first man just looked confused, so the second adopted a patient tone and stopped. "Look, we're orbiting Delta Vega right now 'cause Vulcan was destroyed." A nod. "There's a base there, right?" A second, slower nod. "I say we drop 'im in a pod and send him down. Give him time to... chill out." He grinned wickedly.

"Fuck, man, that's the lamest pun since Althros IV," the first man groaned. "But hell. It'd get him out of our hair til this whole Romulan thing blows over. Maybe we'll get commended or something."

"Or," the second man pointed out, "we could get moved into the actual engineering department."

A one-shouldered shrug. "Well, pods are in this bay. Might as well get 'im settled in while I ring up the coordinates." Five minutes of groaning, some not-so-accidental thumping, and one hot-wired keypad later, the two officers were huddled around a life support pod, Jim Kirk's pale and washed-out face visible through the thick panes of the port. They both stepped back and watched as, with a hiss of decompressed air, the little pod shot out into open space. Almost instantaneously two sheets of metal clanged across the hole, blocking their view.

"So do we tell Spock we put him in the brig?" the first man wondered.

"Nah. He doesn't care about lowly redshirts like us." The wicked grin was back again, in full force. He lifted his hands and adopted an innocent expression. "Oh, sorry, sir, we must've lost 'im. You know how good he is with technology, sir. Probably broke 'imself out and decided ta hell with it."

They both were silent for a moment before bending over in gut-wrenching laughter. The dry guffaws echoed aroud the little open space and they were busy regaining their lost breath to notice the way the metal floors underneath their feet began to buzz. Neither were they intelligent enough to bother looking out a port as they exited the bay, joking and shoving each other playfully, or else they would have noticed the way the stars had blurred together like molten metal in a forge.

Both officers returned to their lowly posts in the bowels of the _Enterprise._ No one but them knew that Jim Kirk was no longer aboard the ship, but they were the only two who didn't know they were currrently warping rather quickly away from the planet they had just dumped him on.

* * *

Jim Kirk registered several things when he awoke. One, he was no longer on a ship, he was crammed inside some tiny survival pod. Two, if the bitter wind seeping through the warped paneling was any indication, the coat so thoughtfully provided by whomever was going to be really freaking useful. And three, he was pissed.

Pissed at himself, for trying something that took time and the proper tools. Pissed at Spock for not listening and then going to extreme measures to prove his point. Pissed at the bridge crew, who obviously agreed with him but were too busy kissing ass to stand up for what was right.

Jim took a deep, calming breath and shuffled around, ignoring the computer telling him to sit tight and wait. If he knew his geography well enough (and he knew he did), he was currently stranded on an unknown part of Delta Vega, a planet primarily made of ice, cold, and nasty critters just waiting to get a taste of him. Slipping his coat on, prying his fingers apart long enough to work the digits into gloves, he hooked the ration pack around his neck and begain searching for a way out.

Just his luck. He was in a hole. Gritting his teeth, he worked the thick gloves into a crack and slowly, agonizingly began pulling himself up. His muscles ached, and his head was thumping in time with his rapid-fire heartbeat.

He couldn't blame Spock. He couldn't. After all the shit he'd put his friend through, he really shouldn't have been surprised that he went for the path of least resistance - getting him the hell away. If their positions had been reversed, he probably would have just stuck Spock in a cell, but Spock had good reason to kick him off the ship. He was being a jerk, and not a good one, either.

Another freezing breath sent stabs of blistering cold into his throat and lungs. Jim squeezed his eyes shut, knowing the wind would only make them water more, and then his tears would freeze and it just wouldn't turn out well in the end.

Well, he was going to find the damn base, and he was going to get back on the ship, and he was going to give Spock another round of 'Listen to me before Nero destroys Earth!'. And maybe it would be a good time to discuss where they stood, on a friend-to-possibly-former-friend basis.

Yeah. Whether it was with fists or words, they were going to clear things up, and hopefully in time to save over a billion lives.

Jim Kirk hauled himself over the edge of the crater, straightened his coat, and began to walk.

* * *

**Notes:**

Right, so if you want to break my kneecaps for not updating in forever, be my guest. Seriously. I have no excuse except I was horrifically lazy and I had ideas for everything but this story pounce on me quite abruptly.

The next chapter we get to see Jim meet Spock Prime, and hopefully I'll squeeze in the big fight scene as well. No promises; I'm moving into my dorm next Tuesday so it's going to be really effing hectic for about two more weeks until I get settled in at my university.

Leave a review, I love them; we have over 100k hits (wow, I feel cool!); I don't own Star Trek (but I own one Vulcan ear and a science division shirt); thanks for everything you've all done for this story; peace!


	23. twenty three

"James T. Kirk, personal log, stardate 2258.42. I think." Jim bit his lip, fighting against the wracking shivers that wanted to rip through his body. "I'm not entirely sure why the hell Spock dumped me on this ice ball, but I am adding this to the growing list of things we really need to talk about." His teeth wanted to chatter, too, but he sternly told them no. He needed to record this, if only so they knew what he was doing out here when they found his body. "Also, as a side note, it's really cold, and the snow is really fucking bright. And it's snowing. So basically I'm in trouble. Awesome."

Essentially, yeah, he was. He'd known they were temporarily orbiting Delta Vega while they got things straightened out, but he'd never thought he'd actually be marooned on the planet, so while he knew he was on one of the ice shelves, he had no clue towards his location in relation to the only Starfleet base in the area. He probably should have asked the computer, but he'd been too busy getting out.

Damn his impatience. It was going to get him killed one of these days.

"Anyways. Acting Captain Spock is going to leave the actual Captain Pike in the hands of Nero, who is a sick, sick bastard, by the way, and I tried to stop him, resulting in him taking action to remove me from the ship. Technically, though, I'm sure this is a violation of some protocol, hence why we'll be talking about it later." Damn, he was freezing. The coat wasn't doing much to block out the biting wind or the driving snow, and the landscape looked like white with occasional splotches of gray, so if he'd passed that hunk of ice already, he wouldn't have known.

Jim opened his mouth to continue when a keening wail sounded off behind him. The cry ululated wildly for an astrosecond, then died off just as abruptly as it had started, fading into the howl of the wind.

Jim squinted through the blizzard, eyes flicking over the sparse wasteland aimlessly before focusing on the moving object. It looked furry, but large, if the size from his distance mattered any. Jim watched carefully as it approached at a breakneck pace, and when it was finally close enough to make out its shaggy bulk, he could see its face. Well, not a face, but a face-thing. Too many eyes and jaws that split like a macabre flower; it peeled its lips away from its teeth (of which there were far too many) and let out a hunting screech.

"Shit!"

Fear rose in him rapidly. Jim turned and bolted, his heart hammering, imagining at every second that thing's hot breath would be on his neck or its claws would be sinking into his leg. So distracted by his imaginings Jim was he lost his footing for a split second and fell to the ground. Scrabbling madly for a handhold on the ice, Jim shoved himself up and took off again, heedless of the jutting rocks and other dangerous formations that could potentially make him lunch.

His breath came in great heaving pants, his arms pumping up and down as he struggled to put distance between him and the predator. Before he'd consciously registered the event, the ground had shuddered beneath him and he'd gone toppling forward. Jim half-turned, eyes wide, to see the absolute monster that had ambushed his furry stalker.

The maroon insect creature grappled with the thing for a second before tossing it almost nonchalantly at the nearest chunk of ice, watching in satisfaction as its neck and spine broke with a series of audible snaps and it sank to the ground, dead. Jim's mouth worked, but no sound came out. He scrabbled madly at nothing, still on his ass and not going anywhere soon.

Jim's breath hitched as the monster turned, its own flower-mouth opening as it scuttled forward and roared straight into his face, its warm spittle spraying everywhere and letting off a steaming hiss. Forcing himself to his feet while the monster continued to roar, Jim took off at a dead sprint, feeling rather than hearing the way its front claws impacted the ice and allowed it to walk over the jagged terrain like it was flat rather than uneven.

Deciding the risk was worth it, Jim glanced over his shoulder and gasped as the ground went tumbling out from underneath him. He continued to roll down the steep slope, tucking himself into a ball so he would go faster and decrease the amount of surface area to be injured. With a sound like thunder, it came crashing down after him. Stifling his absolute panic, Jim allowed himself to keep rolling, knowing that his smaller form would be less impinged by the natural barriers of the planet.

Jim came to a skidding halt at the bottom of the hill, disorientated and lying on his back. Looking at the world upside-down through slitted eyes, Jim's fear-fogged brain couldn't quite make sense of everything until a high-pitched whine behind him snapped his attention back where it belonged.

He rolled over and pushed himself up, sliding on the ice, screaming internally at himself for wasting precious seconds that could mean the difference between life and death. But the monster was confused, too, allowing Jim an extra moment to get his bearings and find some traction.

Jim was running again, letting out a wordless yell of terror, when he spotted the cave. Despite his tired and achy muscles, Jim pushed himself for that extra burst of speed, feeling the warm blast of air from the monster's breath even through his coat. Jim darted inside, ripping the hood of his coat down for the extra visibility, and was almost ready to admit he was safe when the monster burst through the walls surrounding the entrance like they were made of dry twigs.

He only managed to get a few more feet beyond that before something snaked out and wrapped around his ankle. Jim went down hard, arms throbbing painfully, but it was dragging him closer and he didn't have anything to defend himself with and oh god that was its tongue around his calf-

Jim kicked furiously, but it still managed to reel him in closer, like he was a particularly stubborn fish. Its throat muscles working, Jim thrashed again to no use. Just as Jim was beginning to think he wouldn't ever speak to Spock again - _I'm sorry for everything,_ he whispered in his mind - warm orange light came from his side, accompanied by the snap and crackle of burning wood. The monster let go, whining, and gave one last warning scream before beating a hasty exit.

The fire burned brightly at the end of a torch, the end of which was being held firmly in the grasp of... someone. He was dressed for the cold, in a warm parka and snow pants, along with extra-thick gloves. The man - short, bowl-cut hair of a pearly gray - peered over his shoulder, then whirled around.

Jim, still panting on the ground and thrumming with adrenaline from his near-death experience, sat bolt upright, his jaw slack with shock.

"Spock?" he half-shouted incredulously.

It couldn't have been anyone else. That same haircut - _that all Vulcan males had _- the way he carried himself - _like a dignitary, like all important Vulcans _- but most of all, it was his eyes. Warm, feeling, embracing, emotive dark eyes that no other Vulcan had except Spock.

"James T. Kirk." It was even his voice, too, though it was rough with age. A voice Jim had heard so many times in his childhood, as it grew from a child's voice to a teenager's voice to a cold instructor's voice. But this - this was the voice of his friend. Of someone who knew him so well it was scary. "How did you find me?"

"How are you here?" Jim demanded instead, climbing to his feet, holding one hand out in warning. "You - you were on the _Enterprise_. We just had an argument, and you nerve pinched me..." Jim felt his stomach clench. Instead, he forced his tone to become cool and authoritative. "Who the hell are you and why the hell do you look like Spock?"

"Perhaps we should talk around the fire," Spock said calmly, gesturing ahead of himself. Jim cautiously walked forward, keeping his eyes peeled for any proof that this asshole was faking it (because he had to be), but even as silence descended around them in a stifling cloud, Jim couldn't see how he wasn't Spock.

Minutes later the Spock impersonator had pressed the torch to a bed of dry sticks and bark - although where he'd found them was Jim's question, seeing as the entire planet was made of ice - and had a roaring fire going. Jim peeled off his gloves, sitting directly opposite of Spock, and winced as the blood prickled along his fingers.

"It is quite pleasing to see you again, old friend. Especially after today's events." Spock poked the bed of flickering embers with a blackened stick, making sparks fly.

"You can stop with the bullshit, alright?" Jim snapped. "You don't know me. I don't get why you're pretending to be Spock, but you can't be."

And then something very obvious occurred to Jim and he groaned, hitting his forehead with the heel of his palm.

Spock's voice was far too pleased. In fact, it was more emotion than Jim had heard in a while. Even when Spock was young, he was a reserved child. Only when he swung between the extremes did his feelings color his tone. "It seems you've reached a realization, Jim."

"Time travel," he muttered under his breath. "If Nero came from the future, hey, why the hell not you too." He glanced upwards, the flickering fire reflected in his eyes. One eyebrow was raised in haughtily. "So, uh, thanks, then. For today. You definitely saved my sorry ass back there." Spock just looked at him in his damnable way, eyes moving minutely as they roved over his face.

"Stop that," Jim said, feeling suddenly warm despite the bone-chilling temperatures around him. "Please. That's kind of weird."

Spock finally glanced away, watching the fire, but then his eyes were on Jim again, though his stare was thankfully less intense. "Why are you here, Jim?" Spock finally asked.

"You kicked me off the ship because I was being stupid." Jim stifled a snort at Spock's expression. If it had been possible, Spock's eyebrows would have shot straight off his face and lodged in the ceiling. "Pike promoted you to acting captain while he's being interrogated on Nero's ship."

"You have mentioned Nero by name twice now. How do you know of him?"

Jim snorted quietly. "Well, the fact that his lackey murdered my mother, step father, and brother - who I just so happen to have killed, more or less accidentally - along with the fact another lackey kidnapped me and tried to smuggle me aboard his ship? I dunno, we just met on the Web and clicked so well!" The last part was heavy with sarcasm. Spock's expression darkened. This Spock was a lot freer with his face, Jim decided. Damn, it was like being stuck in Spock's head all over again with the human and Vulcan halves of his self. One was frigid, the other was an open book.

"I - I am sorry to hear that." His voice faltered slightly.

Jim winced imperceptably and shrugged, the coat swishing with the movement. "I've gotten over it," he said quietly. "Something else happened that made up for it." But instead of elaborating on his home life after that horrible event, he just cleared his throat and said instead, "So, Nero. What's his problem?"

Spock stood, prompting Jim to follow, and the elderly half-Vulcan took three big steps around the fire, yanking one glove off and flexing his hand. "Please, allow me. This will be much easier."

Jim just nodded, rolling his shoulders and bracing himself. Spock let surprise flash over his features for a moment before he placed the pads of his fingers along Jim's face, calling up the mental images he wished to share with Jim and steeling himself for the mental barrage he had to stem in order to tell Nero's story.

Jim's eyes fluttered closed, pictures flashing through his mind's eye until it settled on one. A ball of burning gases, surrounded by a corona of space rock.

_In one hundred twenty-nine years, a star will explode and threaten to destroy the galaxy. _The voice echoed around him, gentle yet commanding, dark yet warm, familiar but alien. The star exploded outwards, a flash and ripple as the matter began to destroy everything around it. _This star will go supernova and consume everything in its path. _

The image blurred, replaced quickly by a contingent of Vulcans, gathering in the uppermost level of the Academy. Jim watched them curiously, picking out both faces he recognized and faces he didn't. But, most importantly, Spock was there. He was just as elderly in that memory as he was in person.

_I promised the Romulans I would save their planet. _Darkness; then a quick, fleeting image of a ship being outfitted and a bright red sphere in a containment tube. _We took our fastest ship and advanced it; making it the fastest in the galaxy. We advanced the research of red matter, and formulated a plan: to drop the red matter into space and allow it to absorb the exploding star._

Now Jim was in the cockpit of the ship, touching controls on the pad and adjusting his speed, the rotating stern creating a low hum that was oddly soothing to his sensitive ears. Jim glanced down and saw his hands: wrinkled, spotted, but still long and slim of finger.

_Then the unthinkable happened. _The voice took on a mournful and weary tone. _The supernova was advancing at a rate not predicted by our finest scholars. It reached Romulus and destroyed it in moments. I had no choice as to my next course of action. I extracted the red matter and shot it into the supernova lest it continue baffling our projections and force us to lose another planet._

Motion. His/Spock's hands deftly plucking out a needle and forcing it into the red sphere, watching in fascination as the surface bent away from the intrusion. Sending the capsule into the glaring white matter mass as he/Spock turned the ship away, hearing the air decompress as it ejected. Then watching as his screen crackled, a familiar yet unknown face appearing, mourning marks spiky and encompassing. Nero claimed he was the last of the Romulan Empire and that Spock would pay.

_I was intercepted by Nero. My ship was no match for his; in the ensuing chaos, we were both sucked into the black hole I had created. Nero was first; he arrived twenty-five years prior to me. But what were years to him were only seconds to me. I emerged to find Nero and his vessel waiting for me on the other side. _More vivid this time, the sensation of crushing guilt. Spock was walking off the ramp, head high, but when he saw Nero, he sank to his knees.

_Nero said that I was to be held responsible for the loss of his world. He captured me and my ship with the sole intention to make me share his pain. He beamed me onto Delta Vega so I could observe his vengeance. And just as he was helpless to save his planet, I was helpless to save mine._

Jim felt his own grief threaten to strangle him once more as he watched his home disappear into a single point. _Billions of lives lost because of me, Jim. Because I failed. Women, men, children; families. _

Even though the number of mind melds Jim had gone through could be counted on one hand, Jim stretched out his mental image of himself, wrapping it around Spock's with the intention of another comforting hug. Spock was shocked, but he accepted it - though the muted longing Jim felt radiating from him was a bit confusing.

Jim wrenched himself from the mental plane and forced himself to speak through numb lips. "Thank you," he breathed. His throat burned with the urge to finally let himself grieve for his losses, but he just gave Spock's arm a comforting, physical squeeze and backed away quickly.

"Forgive me," Spock said softly. His eyes held sadness that compounded Jim's own. "Emotional transference is a side-affect of melding."

"No. What I feel is how _I _feel, not because I got your emotional radiation," Jim said firmly.

The corners of Spock's mouth twitched upwards into a faint smile. "Eloquent as always," he said, looking upwards for a moment before gathering himself and pulling his glove back on. "We must go. There is a Starfleet outpost not far from here."

He started walking, but did not hear Jim's answering footsteps. Curious as to why he wasn't following, Spock turned and looked at him expectantly.

"When you come from," Jim said slowly, a hesitant but raw look on his face, "did I know my father?"

"Yes." Spock did that almost-smile thing again. "You often spoke of him as your inspiration to join Starfleet. He lived long and well and was the first to congratulate you when you became Captain of the _Enterprise._"

This time, Jim grinned back in response. "Captain?"

Spock nodded. "We must return you to the ship as soon as possible. Come with me." And without waiting to see if Jim was following or not, he took off at a quick pace, leaving the fire to burn itself out. Jim jogged along until he was walking side by side, nudging Spock with his elbow, leaving the elderly half-Vulcan to ponder what he'd seen in Jim's mind while they had been melded and what those images meant.

* * *

Spock sat silently and unmoving in the Captain's chair aboard the _Enterprise. _Though he wouldn't have admitted it for anything, he could only have described himself as brooding. No matter the other problems at hand, his mind continued to circle the incident with Jim around and around as though he could find something else to do instead throw him in the brig and hope for the best. But, unfortunately, time and time again he was unable to think of an alternative option he could have pursued.

"Status," he finally said quietly.

"Mark 1-5-1, varp three, destination Laurentian system," Chekov piped up.

"Thank you." Suddenly full of restless energy, Spock paged the medical center and requested Dr. McCoy report to the bridge. When the tinny chirp subsided, Spock rose, folding his hands behind his back and resisting the too-human urge to pace.

He could have talked to Jim. But then Jim would just have been stubborn and that would have led to a nerve-pinch as well.

Spock mentally cursed. Was he so lax in his training that he wasn't able to tame his mind? Where was his control? Would his father, three decks below in an ambassador's travel quarters, approve of him unable to let the matter rest when the conclusion had arrived so logically?

"Sir." The word was ground out and Spock looked up, slightly startled even if he did not look it. Dr. McCoy was standing in front of him, head tilted enquiringly to the side, a curious look in his eyes. But his posture spoke of hostility. So he was still rather angry about Spock's chosen course of action. That was acceptable. Anger was easy to deal with, rather than confusion and indecision. And Jim.

"Are all the injured in stable condition?" Spock asked. It was as far as he could go towards polite pleasantries.

McCoy nodded sharply. "Well enough. I haven't been in to check on Jim yet. No time."

"I assume you would like to speak with him and assess whether or not my actions have caused any lasting harm." McCoy gave him a suspicious glare out from under his lashes, but finally he just irritably shrugged.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

McCoy let out a sharp breath. He hesitated for another moment before hissing, "Obviously you're out of your mind, you damn hobgoblin!" He gestured angrily to the bridge in general. "You think you can face this guy without Jim? You're probably making the logical decision, yeah, but the right one?" He lowered his voice so only Spock could hear him, but the ferocity only increased. "You weren't with him in Starfleet, you just played safely in your little teaching corner. But Jim wants to find Nero and make him pay for what he did, and he's damn useful. And you're tossing him to the back of the pack like a hunk of meat!"

Spock lifted one sharp eyebrow, saying nothing. Finally McCoy growled wordlessly to himself before forcing his breath to come in even draughts and not in sharp bursts.

"All I'm saying," he finished lowly, "is two bodies are a helluva lot more useful than one. And two geniuses even more so."

Spock nodded as if that were the most valuable piece of advice he had ever been verbally given, though all McCoy could see was a mocking gesture. "Duly noted. If you'll excuse me, doctor." And with that, he walked past McCoy, intent on only he knew what.

McCoy closed his eyes, exhaling. He strode off for the lift, intent on checking in on Jim, but not before leaving one final parting shot for Spock.

"Green-blooded hobgoblin."

* * *

Walking with someone who actually knew where they were going was definitely a nice change of pace, Jim decided. Despite the fact it was still cold enough to freeze your dick off outside and the multitude of injuries he'd received along the course of this little adventure were now aching, Spock wasn't wandering around like a child seeking a parent. No, he knew exactly where the outpost was, and when Jim walked in the doors, he was infinitely glad he wasn't going to be stuck there any time soon.

Drab was the first thing he registered. The walls were tiled in white colored blue by all the fading lights, and while it was marginally warmer inside, it was still way too cold. Jim made sure the door was shut firmly behind them again (just in case), and when he was satisfied, he walked a couple steps forward down the long hall and called, "Hello!"

Instantly metal clangs reverberated around them, along with a thin voice probably cursing. Moments later the pit-pat of footsteps replaced the sounds and Jim glanced at Spock, who looked unconcerned. But then again, that was his neutral expression, so it could very well have been a Klingon coming at them down the hall instead of the tiny figure it actually was.

The being that finally arrived was short. Really short. So short, in fact, he barely came up to Jim's waist. Jim blinked down at the minuscule being, who just lifted his goggles and flicked his space-black eyes over the two of them. His skin looked like green bark, knobbly and ribbed.

Without saying a word he turned around and began walking down the endless hall again, sparing a glance just to make sure they were following him. He led them down a side passage into an open room, weaving around the support beams and covering his nose when he walked through the smoke of some questionable machine. Finally he stopped in front of a desk and a chair that appeared to have a pile of rags atop it. The being gave the pile a firm poke and Jim noticed the pile had legs. So a person then. How fortunate for them.

"What?" the pile snapped irritably. What looked like a scarf was stripped away and a face was revealed.

"Scott," Jim said instantly. "Montgomery Scott. Huh." He tilted his head. "What the hell happened to you?"

The man - Scott - barked out a sarcastic laugh and replied in a thick Scottish accent, "Oh, look, it's the high 'n mighty Jim Kirk. Well, laddie, nice tah see yeh again, now if yeh'll leave me alone? I've got some important work I'm doing here." He delicately replaced the scarf and went back to reclining in his chair.

"Fascinating," Spock said blandly.

"I don't want teh talk teh yeh again unless yeh've got a hot meal hidden in there somewhere," Scott said loudly, though the scarf muffled his voice effectively. "I keep tellin' yeh, the beagle thing was an accident. There's no need teh starve a man!" The little being next to him elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "Ah, shut up! Yeh don't eat anathin'. Yeh eat, like, a bean 'n yeh're done."

"You are the Mr. Scott who postulated the theory about transwarp beaming, correct?" Spock cut in insistently. Scott removed the scarf again, glaring out with sharp blue eyes, and shrugged.

"That's what got me in here," he said grouchily. "I had a debate with ma instructor on the issue of relativistic physics an' how it pertains teh subspace travel. He was convinced the range of somethin' like, say, a grapefruit was only 'bout a hundred miles." He snorted, a wry smile easing the lines around his eyes. "I said, not only kin I beam this grapefruit from one planet teh the next in the same system - very easy, by the way - I could do it with a lifeform. So I, eh, borrowed Admiral Archer's beagle."

"I know that dog." Jim watched as Scott picked up a dirty tin cup and drank from it briefly. "What happened to it?"

"Eh, I'll tell yeh when it reappears." He held up one hand, setting the cup back down on the desk with the other. "I don't know. But I do feel guilty about that, honest."

Spock took a step forward, calling attention to himself and off the vanishing dog. "What if I told you that your theory was correct? That not only could you beam millions of miles, but that you could beam aboard a ship mid-warp?"

Scott was silent as he pondered that. "I think," he said slowly, "if there was an equation for that, I'd've heard of it." His expression was a mixture of intense curiosity and suspicion, complete with squinted eyes and the nervous tugging of the hat.

"The reason you haven't heard of it yet, Mr. Scott, is because you haven't discovered it yet." And if Spock wasn't at all smug during that little bit, Jim would have eaten a glove.

Scott's expression was now just open-mouthed shock. He shook his head, distressed, and stood, looking Spock up and down. "Wha - but - are yeh from the future or sumthin'?"

"He is." Jim pointed instantly towards Spock, who gave him a patient look. "I'm not. Sorry."

Scott just shrugged. "Well. Tell me, do they still have real food in the future?" Jim could only laugh as Spock gently led Scott away from the topic of actual food and requested the use of the transporter pads available. Scott was so excited he agreed at once, launching into an engineer's ramble as he led the pair through the junk maze. He picked up a wrench somewhere along the way, tapping one of the remaining vehicles in one piece, setting the clanging noise abound all around them.

"So," Scott said, sidling up next to Jim as they slipped into the transport center. "I hear the _Enterprise _has had her maiden voyage, eh? She is most definitely a well-endowed lady, if you pardon meh engineerin' parlance." He winked. "I'd like teh get meh hands on her ample nacelles, if yeh know what I mean." Which Jim did: he actually wanted to get his hands on the nacelles of the _Enterprise. _The man was a nut for ships.

Once he figured out Jim didn't want to talk about the ship he was more interested in getting back on, he attached himself to Spock's side for round two of his interrogation. "So, now, even if I believed yeh, right, about all yeh've done and all I've done - which, I don't, sorry - yeh're still talkin' about beaming aboard the _Enterprise _without a proper receivin' pad." He leaned briefly against the wall as Spock began typing, then restlessly made a circuit around the pads, pausing only to tell his fellow outcast, "Git off there! It's not a climbin' frame."

He resumed his tirade against Spock as he arrived back at the half-Vulcan's side. "The notion itself is like - tryin' to hit a bullet with a smaller bullet whilst bein' blindfolded on a horse in a windstorm. Nigh impossible. In fact - wait, what's that?" He peered over Spock's shoulder.

"Your equation for achieving transwarp beaming." Spock keyed in a last number and vacated the seat, watching bemusedly as Scott sat down and leaned forward, studying the tiny letters and numbers as if his life depended on it.

"Hah!" Scott said, flicking a piece of fluff off his sleeve. "Would yeh look at that. It never occurred teh meh teh think of space as the thing moving."

While Scott continued to croon over his master equation, Jim tapped Spock on the shoulder and asked lowly, "You're coming with us, right?"

Spock shook his head slowly. "No, Jim. That is not my destiny."

"Destiny? What the hell does destiny have anything to do with this?" Jim snapped, feeling his temper rise. "You need to come with us so you can explain the dangers of the red matter to Spock, and that way we can find a way to stop Nero before he destroys Earth!"

"No." Spock glanced away. "Under no circumstances can Spock be made aware of my existence. Please, Jim, promise me this."

"Your bullshit is not convincing me," Jim said shortly. "You know more about that stuff than we do, and Nero's got all of it. We need you."

"I will not go. You must do this yourself." He hesitated, then drew himself up fully. "You must repair the bond of friendship with Spock, and you must become Captain of the _Enterprise. _To do so, you must learn to rely on your own strength."

Jim exhaled sharply, whirled around, and punched the nearest wall with a dull, unsatisfying thud. "Fine." He stared over his shoulder, unwilling to turn around completely. "You want me to rely on my own strength, fine. But I've lost too many people important to me already, and if this loses me a planet, I'm coming for you." He folded his arms across his chest and huffed like a stubborn child.

Spock stepped forward, putting a hand on Jim's shoulder. "I know it does not seem fair," he said softly. "But this is more important than you could ever imagine. I saw your childhood, Jim, and I can tell you that Spock misses your company more than you could ever possibly know." Jim's jaw fell open, his eyes round and luminous. "Starfleet Regulation 619 states that a commanding officer, when emotionally compromised by the mission, must resign command."

"If you've seen my childhood," Jim murmured, "then you know I'm emotionally compromised too."

"But not as much as I. Despite that you lived there and grew attached to specific people, Earth has been and always will be your home. And now, your leadership is absolutely necessary, Jim." Spock met his stare, and those dark eyes were full of such pain Jim almost pulled him into another hug right there. "You have roused my anger in the past. It should not take much to do so again."

"Yeah," Jim said, smiling. "I remember that." He took a deep breath, drawing himself up. "Alright, then," he said firmly. "Let's do this thing."

"Alright," Scott called, oblivious to the conversation that had just taken place. "Do or die time, come on." He stepped onto one of the beaming pads, looking expectantly at Jim, who took his place on the other. "No," Scott scolded, giving the little being a gentle push. "No. You cannae come with meh. Sorry."

Jim sighed softly, leaning on the bar, watching as Spock walked over and pressed the button that would transport them into the _Enterprise._ In the moment it took for the machine to sputter to life, Spock caught Jim's eye and smiled. Lifting his hand in the traditional Vulcan manner, he said, "Jim. Live long and prosper."

Smiling cockily, Jim gave him a wry salute. Within seconds the whirling beams were surrounding him, tearing apart his atoms and sending him hurtling through space. Warp space, which was even better.

When Jim opened his eyes to see the last of the crackling energy dissipating from around him, all he could feel was a dim sense of elation and an even greater sense of urgency. But damn did it feel good to be back on a ship - his ship, if Spock was to be believed - again. "Mr. Scott!" he called. "We made it!"

The engineering bay was full of odds and ends necessary to the running of a starship. Despite there being a multitude of random objects in the way, Jim couldn't see Scott anywhere. Until, that was, he heard a dull banging coming from a water tank off to his left. His eyes widened. "Shit!" he swore. "Can you hear me, Mr. Scott?" he shouted, hitting the side of the tank with his palm.

The banging ceased, replaced with an ominous burbling. Jim watched helplessly as Scott swam into view inside one of the connective tubes, pressing his fingers against the glass as bubbles sprayed from his mouth. "Just hold on!" Jim said, looking desperately around.

But the current was relentless, and Scott was being pulled along. Jim followed the bends and twists of the tube, relentlessly searching for something big and heavy he could use to break the glass, even as his commn sense told him the material was as strong as steel.

The tube took a ninety degree upward swing and Jim traced the path, finding, to his horror, a turbine at the end. "No, no," he muttered, watching the fan blades spin with a sick feeling in his stomach, but bright red lettering grabbed his attention and he felt hope swell in his chest. An emergency hatch! He spotted a terminal just below it and sprinted to the computer, tapping the proper sections and feeling his grin spread as the flashing words 'TURBINE RELEASE HATCH ACCESSED' dance across the screen.

Jim turned just in time to see Scott land, body first, onto the ground in a spray of water. Jim rushed over to him, splashing through the water (and somewhat surprised to note he'd ditched the coat and gloves somewhere along the way) to see if the man was alright. And he was, spraying water out of his mouth and generally making a fuss over his relatively first near-death experience.

"You all right?" Jim asked, patting him down and checking to see if there was any blood on his hands.

"Ma head's buzzin' and I'm soaked, but otherwise in one piece." Jim flashed him a winning grin.

"Let's go, then." And they were off, jogging along and ducking behind other bits of machinery when security got too close for comfort.

They managed to slip past an engineering officer as they went up a deck, dodging past the colorless vats of coolant and other substances. Jim kept both hands on the railing, using them as leverage to leap past stairs and let him generally move about the area faster than he normally would have been able to. Scott was going only slightly slower, insistent as he was on using all the stairs and oogling the parts he was passing.

Jim spotted several blobs of red in the distance. Cursing under his breath, he made to turn around, but there was a phaser blocking his way; attached to that phaser was an arm and to that a disgruntled-looking security officer. Jim backtracked hastily, only to feel the point of another phaser digging into his side.

"Come quietly with me." The man looked kind of familiar, actually. Jim wondered if he'd ever pissed him off. "Cupcake."

So, that answer was yes.

Jim and Scott were grabbed roughly and escorted to the nearest lift, where they managed to be paraded through every station before being shoved onto the other lift that would take them to the bridge. Jim just rolled his eyes, knowing the unnecessarily harsh treatment was because of his past stupidity and accepting it as something he couldn't be bothered by right now. Inside the lift, Jim was struck with the thought of how kind Spock had been to let Jim hold him. Usually Spock was very minimal-touching. It was... nice. Jim decided he rather liked hugs with Spock.

The doors opened, drawing the eyes of the entire bridge crew. With a deep breath, Jim locked eyes with Spock and said seriously, "I think it's time we talked."

* * *

**Notes:**

Okay, so I lied. No fight scene today. But, on the bright side, I think you will both love and hate me for what I have planned. And it will be there next chapter. Swear on my life.

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed. I love you. And thanks for your leniency and good wishes. I appreciate them. Please leave a comment if you want, I don't own Star Trek, and finally, peace.


	24. twenty four

Time stopped.

_He wants to talk! _The thought soared triumphantly above the haze currently predominating Spock's mind at that instant, burning and bright. His heart thumped once, hard, as he absorbed the keen blue eyes staring at him, as if they could see beyond the skin outside and into Spock's very soul. For a single, pure, untouched second, everything fell away - it was always as it had been, just the two of them, with the universe at their feet.

Even as he felt the hope welling up with such a statement, the cool and resentful part of him whispered that Jim rarely forgave anyone for offences as great as Spock's. Jim, it hissed, was prideful and quite simply _human. _To expect anything more than yet another screaming match was illogical.

Spock grasped that line of reasoning and clung to it for dear life. No, Jim wouldn't want to bother fixing their relationship. The logical thing to do would be to sever ties completely. And if he didn't do that... well, Spock was confident that situation would never come into play, so he wouldn't waste energy worrying.

He rose gracefully from the Captain's chair, acutely aware of every pair of eyes on him - including, he noticed with a sinking stomach, both his mother's and father's - and stepped down, hands folded behind his back, face smoothed into a careful mask of disintereset.

"What did you wish to talk about, Jim?" Spock asked quietly, then flinched internally as he realized his mistake. By calling Jim by his given name rather than his family name, he was fostering a sense of intimicy. One he really, really didn't want - or need - at the moment.

"You know. Our childhood. The fight. Why you marooned me on Delta Vega." Jim tossed him a dazzling smile, but there was a cold edge to it. Spock blinked.

"I was not aware you had been on Delta Vega," Spock managed to force out. "My orders were for you to be transported to the brig for the duration of our journey." Thoughts plinked in his mind, one after the other in perfect, logical harmony, and a frozen anger stole across him. He barely restrained himself from ordering the two security guards to the bridge to be punished at that instant, but the surprise that Jim registered halted that in its tracks.

"Oh." Jim shrugged, sliding fluidly out of the guard's grasp. The ease with which he removed the physical contact presented to him wasn't lost on Spock, who wondered if that was his family's influence or just something he picked up from being around Vulcans for such a long period of time.

Spock forced his tone to relay boredness, even though every nerve was humming with tense energy. "If that is all, Cadet, I'll ask the guards to escort you properly back down to your cell?" Ending it with a slight lilt, he gestured subtley for the two burly men to be prepared to subdue Jim once more. And the cold glare he added in shouldn't hurt, either, he decided.

"No." Jim crossed his arms over his chest, swallowing hard. "We're not done. Not yet." He let a breath hiss out between his teeth, and his jaw worked as he struggled to find something else to say.

"Cadet-"

"Damn it!" Jim finally snapped. "I'm no good with this stupid bullshit flowery talk you Vulcans do, so I'll do it my way, alright?" He paced a tight circuit in the time it took Spock to recover his bearings, shocked as he was. "The fight - Starfleet - hell, Spock, I'm sorry!"

Every muscle locked in place. Spock felt his pulse shoot through the metaphorical roof, felt his lungs straining for air - but his brain had become a singularly confused mass of competing voices. Finally, though, he regained his voice. His tone was colder than Delta Vega. "I have no need for apologies, Cadet. Now, I have a ship to command. To the brig." He nodded his head sharply.

Not a soul moved. Jim's voice cracked, so slightly Spock was sure the only reason he caught it was because of his superior hearing. "Please," he said hoarsely. "What I did was - unforgivable. I ostracized you because I let my childhood before Vulcan define me. I was Jim Kirk, son of George Kirk, and I held Starfleet responsible for the loss of my world. I held a grudge - something my mother-" His gaze darted to Amanda, but Jim squeezed his eyes shut, taking a shaking breath before continuing. "-something my mother always begged me not to do."

"And you think one apology will suddenly banish eight years of antipathy towards each other?" Spock said darkly. Behind him, he heard a startled inhalation. Had he paused to turn and see the source, he would have discovered Amanda with one hand over her mouth and the other clutching her husband's in an iron grip.

"No," Jim said honestly. "I don't."

"Then why bother?" Spock took a step forward, savoring the height advantage as he looked down his nose at his - former - friend. "I will not accept one ill-based attempt to make reparations as the solution to this." He barely registered the fact his voice was dropping in both pitch and volume. It didn't matter. At the moment, getting _rid _of this man was all that mattered.

"I just wanted you to know," Jim continued blithely, as if he hadn't heard or acknowledged what Spock had said, "that I'm sorry. And..." Jim stopped, his mind whirling. He had so many things he wanted to say, but the constraints of language were hampering his every effort. Being around Spock made his brain disengage and the stupidest things come tumbling out. "Meld with me."

That brought Spock up short. "What?" The skin around his eyes tightened as the tips of his ears flushed dark green. Little things, they were, but Jim instantly took note of them and gauged his reaction as one of complete surprise. He'd been brought up short by the request.

"You heard me." Jim closed the distance between them and grabbed Spock's wrist, bringing it within brushing distance of the tender skin on his face. Spock abruptly froze, not even daring to breathe. Jim just looked at him, eyes honest and clear. His lips twitched upwards in a ghost of a smile. "I give you permission. I'm fucking it up trying to tell you, so just - you know. Get it from my thoughts."

Spock swallowed, but dipped his head in a shallow nod. Even if Jim was truly sincere - which we wasn't, he couldn't be, it wasn't like him at all - he wouldn't be able to hide. Falsehoods were almost impossible to tell in the mental plane, for simple reason that even while you say one thing, the tenor of your thoughts may say another.

Before he could change his mind and decide on a less... invasive way to solve this problem, Spock closed the distance between skin and skin. Jim shivered slightly as the heat radiated along his face, eyes half-lidded. Spock murmured the traditional focus words under his breath, feeling the weight of the bridge crew's stares like a physical thing on his shoulders. They were curious about how this would end. Or, more likely, if Spock would end up beating the crap out of Jim for some new stupid thing he was doing.

As Jim's mind began tugging on his, Spock spared one last glance to memorize his face - a series of lines, light and shadow, pierced through with blue - before their friendship (or mockery of it) was annihilated.

One way or another, this was ending now.

* * *

Jim's mind, Spock noticed, was green. It positively teemed with living growth; plants grew in every conceivable place, crawling up invisible planes and looping around mental constructs. Jim floated in the midst of the mass, looking far more peaceful than he had any right to. With intent, Spock started forward. "Jim."

Jim being Jim, he'd gotten so distracted by how his own mind looked in comparison to Spock's and had almost completely forgotten the entire purpose of letting down his barriers and privacy. Flashing a grin at his half-Vulcan friend, he let a low laugh bubble out. He felt so - free! It was nice inside his mind. If he didn't have a world to save, he'd suggest staying. Too bad it wasn't an option; a vegetable couldn't kick Nero's ass, after all.

"What did you wish to show me that you can't say in front of the crew?" Spock said, nothing about him but his posture betraying how honestly tired he was. Vulcans didn't need as much sleep as humans, but ever since this crisis had started, he hadn't done anything except expend energy. Jim noticed and sighed.

"I don't know quite how to do this," Jim admitted softly. Closing his eyes, he breathed out for a moment, then reached over to a leafy vine and plucked a strand. Bordering on trance-like, he pressed the snippet against Spock's side - where his heart was.

Jim felt it as keenly as if the wound was fresh. How harshly the supposed betrayal had cut him. How he had carried that anger within him for years, bitter and resentful that Spock had abandoned him like that.

But, as the saying went, time healed all wounds. A couple of cases of strong head trauma later, Jim was laying on the couch in his old house, thinking.

Was it really so bad Spock didn't want to deal with stupid Vulcan assholes? That gave him pause.

Spock was intelligent. He couldn't willingly hurt anything, least of all Jim. So why was he taking it so hard?

In the end, it all boiled down to George Kirk. He'd left a legacy that tainted anything Starfleet touched, for his son at least. He'd dealt with his mother, bless her flighty soul, for ten years before he lost her. He had found a new family, mostly due to his outstanding luck, and hadn't even lasted ten more years before Spock had taken off to join the horrid organization. It was like his past all over again.

But now... Jim had survived falling from the atmosphere of a planet and almost being eaten by an ice-creature. The only thing he could think about before his supposed death was Spock.

It made no sense.

Jim paused, drawing the cutlet away for a second. His face twisted as a new creeping thought began to insistently push its way to the forefront of his mind. The little bud curled around his calf, petals shining the dark color of Spock's eyes, almost purring in its insistence to be shown and examined next. Jim lifted one eyebrow, mirroring Spock not too far away, and plucked it.

This one, he knew, he had to put between Spock's eyes. With a silent exhalation, he did so.

Jim cared deeply about what Spock felt. Every night, he wondered if their friendship would be repaired in the future, and every morning, he woke to the feeling of anger at himself for reacting so harshly. He hated how he had reacted, like a spoiled child being told their favorite toy was now being taken away. Spock was so much more, he didn't deserve to be treated that way.

Jim truly enjoyed Spock's company. His finest memories were on Vulcan, with his best friend, whether it was their strange adventures or their quieter days, just sitting by the spring and talking nonsense.

When Jim was in pain, he sought Spock for comfort. When Jim was on the verge of death, it was Spock he wished to see last. Out of every mistake he'd ever made, his reaction to Spock's announcement still haunted him.

Jim loved Spock.

The strange little flower vibrated in sheer joy and proceeded to crumble into dust that quickly blew about them in some invisible wind. Everywhere it touched, more dark-petaled flowers bloomed. Jim clutched at it, shock robbing him of any other thought than what he had apparently just discovered.

Spock... Once Jim realized how futile it was trying to snatch at the air, he turned his attention back to Spock, and he couldn't make himself look away. The half-Vulcan was floating there, staring at him, dark eyes cavernous as space and his entire form limned with gold, the color of sand in sunlight.

Naturally. Where Spock was the desert, hiding beauty in the unlikeliest of places, Jim was life itself, wild and untamed.

Jim dared to go forward, making all the freshly-bloomed flowers quiver. "Spock?" he whispered, his throat dry.

"No." It was so quiet, at first Jim thought he was imagining it. "You cannot love me. It is - illogical." His voice rose, his control wavering. "Do not lie to me!"

"I'm not," Jim said softly. "You told me that, once. You can't lie in mind-melds. It's practically impossible." The nervous sound that came next could have been called laughter, but only if one stretched the definition to its utmost limit. "I do love you. You know, typical me, can't see anything even when it's staring me right in the face." He chuckled again, the dry sound echoing around them.

Then, feeling a surge of daring he hadn't acted upon in years, he closed the distance between them and brought his lips to Spock's.

The kiss itself was very chaste, especially by Jim's usual standards. He was far more used to a quick romp in the sack, not taking anything slow or seriously. But those had simply been to satisfy his libido; now, this was a matter of emotions. Entirely new ground for both of them.

Spock went utterly still in a way only Vulcans when greatly shocked could. But he didn't push away; indeed, he didn't break contact for almost several seconds. Even then, when he seemed to come back to his senses, he simply waited for Jim to pull away. But what brought the anger 'round to bear was the soft look in Jim's eyes.

Love.

"No," Spock snapped. His brows drew down, fists clenched. "I don't - I can't-" With a mental twist, he broke the contact, and not too gently, either.

Brought suddenly back into the real world, still off-balance by the discovery, Jim stumbled and fell to one knee. Spock took that opportunity to bend over at the waist and punch him squarely in the face.

Pain exploded under Jim's left eye, sending sparks of multiple colors fluttering across his vision. The blow sent him spinning to the ground, but experience made him force himself to his feet quickly - quickly enough, in fact, to duck under the follow-up blow and get inside Spock's guard.

Jim brought his arms around Spock's torso, squeezing for all he was worth, one hand resing on the side where Spock's heart was (and noticing, incidentally, that it was pounding like a sonic jackhammer) and the other threading through his hair.

"I know," Jim said under his breath, lips close enough to Spock's ear that the half-Vulcan could feel the warm puffs of air that accompanied the words. "I know it's hard to accept, and I know I've been an asshole before, but I am so sorry. For everything. For hurting you, for going behind your back, for not saving Vulcan in time..." Jim trailed off, clutching him closer. "I'm sorry," he said miserably. "I can understand if - if you don't feel the same way. I'm sorry."

* * *

Dr. McCoy was not a happy camper. That, of course, was a massive understatement; it was like saying Jim could be a little stupid sometimes, or Spock had a bit of a temper.

It didn't cover half of it, basically.

When he'd left the bridge to go check on Jim in the brig, the one thing he _hadn't _expected was to find Jim missing. The next order of business was to find the two security officers _guarding_ the empty bring and do something to rectify the problem.

Oh, they'd been smug at first. But some obliquely mentioned threats regarding their next physicals - and what might not survive that encounter - had them talking nice and fast. They admitted to getting back at him for the prank he'd pulled on the security and engineering division, coloring them all red as their shirts. But it was when they mentioned the specifics of their retaliation that McCoy wanted to honestly kill them.

Marooning him on Delta Vega. As if that was ever a good idea. Jim would be too damn stubborn to listen to the pod's instructions. He could be wandering around on the planet's surface, slowly freezing to death. He could be lying unconscious in a crater, going hypothermic as he couldn't escape for a warmer environment.

He might have just died on impact. It was rare in escape pods, but it definitely still happened.

Visibly fighting his temper, McCoy kept his reaction simple: he stunned them both with enough tranquilizers to knock out one of those extinct elephants, stowed them in a cell of their own, and took off at a dead run for the lift. He had to tell Spock about what was going on; he was the only one with authority to turn the ship around and go rescue the damn kid.

He almost bowled over a couple of ensigns, but he didn't stop to apologize. No, he barreled into the lift, barked, "Bridge!", and held on for dear life.

That had to be the longest thirty seconds of his life.

Soon enough, though, the doors pinged open and McCoy spilled out, off balance and keeping his eyes on the ground in order not to fall on his face. When he did look up, though, he blinked, swiped at his eyes, and watched with a gaping mouth as Jim pulled Spock into a hug, whispered something into his ear, and then paled when Spock went completely limp in his arms.

"Medic!" Jim shouted. He was pleasantly surprised when Bones jogged out, already present, and took Spock's pulse, grabbing a tricorder out of his bag and running it over the unmoving body with his other hand.

"What the hell did you do this time, Jim?" McCoy snarled. "You can't go around injuring the captain when you have a fight! You'll be arrested for mutiny!" Then what he'd actually come to the bridge for reasserted itself in the forefront of his mind. "I thought you were on Delta Vega," McCoy almost growled.

Jim was pale, all the blood having drained from his face. "I don't - I mean - I didn't mean for this to happen!" he said hoarsely. The skin under his eyes shone dark purple in the artifical light. A bruise was already darkening on one cheekbone, distending the skin with its swelling. "I mean, I wanted to apologize, and then I found out I love him, and-"

"You what?"

"Just help him!" Jim finally barked desperately. "Please!"

"His vitals are normal," McCoy finally muttered a few precious seconds later. "A little lower than I'd like, but normal." He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking. Spock was half-Vulcan, that would account for the wildly varying blood pressure and heart rate, but he appeared completely unresponsive, if healthy... McCoy stilled.

"Jim." His young friend looked up, panic clouding his blue, blue eyes. "You remember... when you were younger. That mental break that you dragged Spock through the rain to get to the hospital for." It hardly seemed possible, but Jim paled even further.

"You think... it happened again?" McCoy could only nod. Jim took a deep breath and as much as he looked like he wanted to find a 'fresher and throw up, he forced himself to stand on unsteady legs and face the crew. "Take him to the medbay," Jim said distantly. "When we're finished, we'll find someone to heal him." McCoy opened his mouth to protest, but a sharp look from Jim shut him up quickly.

Bones sighed, gestured for one of the red shirts that had been standing around looking out of place and gestured for him to grab Spock's feet. With a grunt, McCoy heaved his shoulders up. Once they'd gotten their balance sorted out, McCoy nodded towards the lift.

The doors were closing on a sodden man remarking how interesting the ship was. As things stood, McCoy would have taken boring in a heartbeat: so far, both of the kids he'd practically grown up watching had nearly died. One was still there, in fact, on the brink of death. McCoy didn't think his Vulcan mentor had survived the planet implosion, and she had claimed to be one of the few with the ability to pass minds through her own.

That lift ride passed much more quickly; when it cheerfully announced their arrival, he yelled out for a bed and a monitor to be prepared immediately. Giving the security officer a terse nod of thanks, he heaved Spock's limp body up onto the only available platform. Nurse Chapel, smart dear that she was, already had a scanner out and was taking note of his stats.

"It's a mental condition," McCoy explained tersely. "Not physical. We'll have to wait this one out."

He rubbed his forehead, wishing he had the time to take some anti-pain pills for his growing headache. There was too much to do, however, because other patients needed taking care of. With one last glance towards the still form of his captain, he busied himself with the other hundred or so problems waiting to be solved.

* * *

Sarek was not, by nature, what most humans would call a 'good father'. He took little part in his son's life, preferring to only provide a source of stability and advice when his son's inevitable difficulties came to light. So when he found himself leading his wife to the lift after the doctor had departed, not wanting to hear about his foster son's relegation to captain in Spock's stead, he was debating the logic of such an action.

Spock could not be helped by Sarek at this point. James had broken the unspoken rule to leave any injured Vulcan be while they healed themselves; it was only with his help that Spock had survived. But what had caused the rift in his mind was still a mystery, even now.

"Sarek," Amanda said sternly, the white cylinder they were currently encased in flickering as they dropped several levels. "You can admit you are worried, you know."

"Worry is a human emotion," Sarek replied in his customary distant tone, even as his wife colored in irritation. She was so lovely, how open her face was to him. "I am merely deciding what the most logical course of action to take at this point is."

She hit him, then, a light tap on his stomach. Had he taken the time to think outside his own sphere of personal concern, he would have noticed the lines creasing around her eyes, tightening around her mouth. She was more worried than even he was, and he was more the fool for not realizing. Mothers often had emotional attachments to their children.

"Medical Bay." Amanda led them out, driving past the nurses and doctors until she'd found the bed she wanted: the one that held her son. With a soft cry of anxiety, she lunged forward and siezed the bedridden man's hand.

"Oh, Spock," she whispered, stroking the line of his fingers. "Please come back, my baby."

Sarek hid a sigh, disguising it as a mere exhalation. He had not wished to reveal this skill, but because it was his son... it was necessary. And the crew would only benefit with a Vulcan intellect driving it. He gently grabbed his wife's hand, brushing his fingers against hers.

"You must talk to your son," Sarek said calmly. "It is the human instincts that cause him pain. You are more suited for this than I."

Amanda smiled sadly at him. Instead of offering a reason why he should do it, she simply nodded once, brushing back an errant hair from Spock's forehead. Sarek placed his fingertips along the faces of two of his three family members, murmuring soothing, rhythmic words that drew his wife's mind into his son's broken one.

His role finished, Sarek drew up a chair and thankfully sank down into it. He was not old, even by Vulcan standards, but transferring one mind through his own into another always was more draining than anything else.

"I wish you luck, my wife," he said quietly, drawing Amanda into his lap, stroking the line of her cheekbone, wishing he knew what to do to make it better.

* * *

"Spock."

Her son's mind was organized, even for a Vulcan. Of course, everything was in relative shambles because of whatever had occurred on the bridge, but it was still stages better than someone untrained.

Amanda hovered about an inch above the dusty ground, taking in a scene she wasn't sure she was seeing correctly. She had known about the spring almost from the moment Spock discovered it; he'd come home refreshed and slightly cheerful, even after her husband had encouraged him to supress his emotions. So when the image before her remained unwavering, she smiled slightly.

Even though her son was ignoring her, he watched with her as a younger version of himself meditated near the little pool. Jim sat under a cropping of rock, a PADD in one hand, and softly called out a question. Spock answered in a calm, confident voice, and Jim smiled hugely.

"He said he loves me, Mother."

The memory wavered and disappeared, replaced with empty space. Her skin glowed faintly in the darkness, shedding enough light that she could see the contorted expression her son had adopted.

"And why are you panicking?" Amanda said softly.

"I do not deserve to be loved." Spock's voice was flat and dead, his shoulders tense and his face stormy. "I am a half-breed mistake, incapable of showing affection correctly. I am despicable. I have no control. I have injured him. I will likely do so again in the future. Even if I do - love him, he is mistaken in his feelings."

And if she was slightly off-balance due to his extreme openness at the moment, well, better to wait than rush in and make a mistake.

"You know," Amanda said softly, "I knew you loved him before you did." She chose not to respond to his insecurities, partially because they made her want to raze the Council for making him feel that way and partially because they were pressed for time. Nero was heading to Earth.

This brought Spock up short. He stared at her.

"The day you were kidnapped," she started, "I figured it out. When you arrived safely home, after I'd put out an inquiry to find the Romulan who'd taken you both, you only had eyes for Jim. Despite the fact you were also seriously injured, when he reacted in pain, you were fighting the urge to comfort him. You were more concerned about his health than your own." She offered him a gentle, knowing smile.

"And then when I discovered the depth of my _feelings_-" Spock almost spat the last word "-I suffered a complete mental breakdown. It took years for me to discover how I felt. It is illogical that you could have known before I did."

"And yet, here we are." She gestured around herself. "You pulled yourself together after Jim denounced your decision to attend Starfleet, but when you are presented with evidence he cares for you in more than a brotherly manner, you break." Amanda tilted her head, her customary headscarf fluttering in a nonexistent wind. "You have very strange priorities, my son."

He turned away, and for a moment, she feared she'd ruined her chances to bring him back. Instead, she found him thoughtfully silent.

"I cannot remain with him."

"Why not?"

Spock glanced at her, dark eyes tumultous. "He deserves someone who would take care of him. Who would show him their love and not be hampered by - cultural pressures." Which was a polite way of saying, he blamed his Vulcan training for the reason he didn't want to acknowledge he might actually have a chance with the man. Amanda resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"You lived with him for seven years, dear," Amanda said, tilting her head to one side, clasping her hands in front of her. "You couldn't show him you loved him when you were a teenager and he still grew to reciprocate those feelings. What's to stop him now?" She paused, pensively tugging on the hem of her shirt. "And," she finally added, "I would not go so far to say that Vulcans can not take care of those they love. I would know."

Her son smoothed trembling hands over his uniform shirt, not meeting her eyes. Amanda was patient, though; Spock was every bit as stubborn as her Sarek could be sometimes.

"I cannot," he said again, with half the conviction of before. "I do not wish to face my failures. Father will be most displeased at my reaction. It is cowardly, but true." Shame wrapped around Amanda, thick and clinging like a particularly virulent fog; she banished it with a wave of her hand and closed the distance between them.

"You just lost your home," she murmured comfortingly, laying one hand on his face, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin and giving him a genuine smile, even as a tear stubbornly tracked down her cheek. "You almost lost your family. You just found out Jim loves you, after it was your discovery and inability to process it that broke you in the first place. I do not blame you for seeking retreat." Her gaze sharpened. "And if Sarek cannot reconcile that with his son, than he will not be speaking to you again."

Fear washed over her, making her stomach clench, but it was quickly replaced by the tenative touch of acceptance, like a gentle wind against her face. They remained together in that position, Spock with his head bowed and Amanda reassuring him with a simple stroke to the cheek, for a long moment. The darkness around them pulsed, steady and slow at first but then picking up speed. Amanda knew it was in time with his heartbeat.

"It's time to go back, love," she said quietly. Spock just nodded, taking a deep, steadying breath.

"Nothing ever is simple with Jim, is it?" he asked rhetorically. She shook her head even when she knew he wasn't expecting an answer and bid him good-bye.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Amanda felt her mind drift out of her son's, the darkness replaced by muted light behind her closed eyelids. She blinked quickly, clearing the last of the spots from her vision, and looked up, startled, to see Sarek staring at Spock's limp form with the closest thing to concern he'd ever shown, even after her own close demise. Stifling the pride that welled up with that simple expression, she shifted slightly.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," she said tenderly, catching his fingers and brushing them against her own. "Now I'll be stiff!" Stoic Vulcan that he was, Sarek immediately wiped all former traces of worry off his face, replacing it with a blank mask.

"I apologize. It was not my intention." Sarek tensed, ever so slightly, when Spock stirred on the bed. "You were successful?" he asked.

Amanda nodded, righting herself and straightening her skirt. "Say anything to break him again," she warned, "and I will not remain your wife for much longer." The threat was duly noted, because as Spock slowly sat up, Sarek wisely stayed silent.

Spock's parents watched with bated breath as he rose and swung his legs over the bed, unsteadily landing on his feet and determinedly not meeting their eyes. Just as he was about to leave, however, Sarek called for his attention.

"Yes, Father?"

Amanda looked up at her husband from her spot in his lap, eyes narrowed. He had best watch his words carefully, she thought furiously. After she had warned him, as well...

"You are human and Vulcan, Spock, something that has lent you no small disadvantage through the years. I know that it has been difficult - I have watched you struggle as well as succeed." He fell silent, searching for the proper words. Spock stood still, eyes closed and his jaw clenched. "What you choose to do with your life," Sarek said quietly, "is entirely _your _choice. You are a child of two worlds. Do not feel limited because of the heritage of one." He tilted his head forward. "I am not saying pursuing Jim will be easy. But I will stand behind whatever decision you make." Sarek took a steadying breath. "You once asked me why I married your mother. I was unable to answer at that time. Now, however, I will: I married her because I love her."

Spock's throat bobbed, and when he lifted his head to thank his parents for their help, his eyes were glazed, though he refused to shed any tears. He murmured his thanks and brushed past them, regathering the shattered remains of his self-control and wrapping them around him in a familiar mental motion.

Amanda was left sitting on the lap of her husband, staring at the doorway which her son had just left through, feeling slightly bewildered as to what had just transpired between father and son.

"He is strong," Sarek said thoughtfully. "He may break again in the future, but then he may not. It is best to simply see, Amanda." He held out his first two fingers, which she obligingly pressed against with her own.

Sarek's musings were cut short, however, when one harried medical officer stopped past the bed Spock had been occupying. Dr. McCoy took one look at the empty bed, shot another at the slightly worn-out male Vulcan and his wife, and muttered, "God_damn_it."

* * *

_Breathe_, Jim silently instructed himself. _Keep breathing. It will be alright. We'll find a Vulcan with super-melding powers and get Spock the help he needs and everything will be alright, but you CANNOT PANIC._

Uhura continued to shoot him black glares every time she turned her chair around, Chekov and Sulu were giving him wary glances over their shoulders, and half the other bridge crew looked like they were ready to bolt. Irritation prickled under the sense of urgency that had pushed Jim to go this far. Other Spock seemed to think everything would suddenly be alright if he were captain; instead, all he had was a half-mutinous crew who looked ready to leap up and flee if they heard anything dangerous coming.

He'd already explained to them the reasons behind his decision to alter their course into a pursuit of the _Narada_, had already wearily mentioned his information came from a source he wasn't at liberty to disclose at the moment, and had already sent Scotty to look at the ship's engines to see if the damage done by the futuristic weapons had been repaired enough to continue forward without risk to themselves. Not only that, he'd suffered through scores of questions as to how he'd gotten aboard, and some of the crew were discussing transwarp theory with great gusto.

As it was, it was very quiet on the bridge.

"Keptin," Chekov said softly, catching his attention instantly from the command chair. Jim hopped off and strode over to his station, feeling the taut skin on his face throb in time with his heartbeat.

"Yes, Chekov?"

"Ve simply cannot beam aboard ze _Narada_. It vould be suicide. Perhaps if ve varped to a planet in our solar system, ve could disguise ourselves in its magnetic field and secure a tranzport line from there." He shot a glance at Sulu, who nodded the tiniest bit in encouragement. "I vas thinking... Titan."

Jim's eyebrows lifted in curiosity, and he tilted his head slightly to the side, waiting for his helmsman to follow up, as they had no doubt planned.

"With Saturn's magnetosphere mixing with its moon's," Sulu said finally, "we would be safe from their scanners. It would impair our own, but we've trained to work around that. The thick atmosphere would also disguise any visuals they'd get, and we'd be sufficiently far enough that if we were in any danger, we could warp away unhindered."

Jim didn't bother to disguise the smile that was stretching his face, sending twinges of pain up his bruised cheek. "I think," he declared, "you have just found us the best way to do this."

Chekov's face split into a wide and unapologetic grin. "Thank you, sir!" he said cheerfully.

"Mister Sulu, set course according to Mister Chekov's calculations." Jim nodded gratefully at the pair and moved to head back to his seat, but he froze in his tracks when he spotted the splash of blue against the stark white of the turbolift.

Spock stood there, hands clasped behind his back, eyes locked with Jim's. He stepped forward slowly, gracefully, his face calm and no signs of his earlier meltdown present in his posture. Indeed, you might have thought he'd just woken from a particularly refreshing sleep cycle with all the expression he was showing.

"I have come to offer my services in any way they may be needed," Spock said in a voice so soft Jim had to strain to hear it. Though the human man wasn't aware of his body moving, he was suddenly not two feet from his friend... who he was in love with. But perhaps it wasn't better to acknowledge it, because when Spock told him off, it would only hurt that much more. But his emotions felt that way and there was no turning back.

"Of course," Jim said, gesturing to Spock's empty science station. "Feel free."

Jim whirled around, suddenly desperate to look at the numbers Chekov had punched out, when a ghostly sensation passed along his uninjured cheek. The spot radiated warmth for a mere moment before it faded, and he brought his hand up to touch the spot in wonder.

Spock, looking for all the world as if he had not just sneakily kissed his captain, was now conversing quietly with the young tactics officer, going over some of the finer points of their plan. Jim could only spare a moment of pure happiness before duty reared its ugly head once more.

Mouth set into a grim line, Jim watched the stars blur past the viewscreen, wondering if this would ever work. And he wasn't sure about which thing he was referring to, either: Spock or the plan to kill Nero.

Every bridge would be crossed when the time was right, Jim decided. Until then, there was nothing to do but plan.

* * *

**Notes:**

Well.

That scene in the mind-meld has been one of the first I'd imagined when starting this story. I feel as if I've passed a landmark when I sat down to type it.

If you don't like it, stop reading. This is mostly aimed towards the people sending me nasty messages telling me Chapter 2 sucks. Shut up and let me write the damn story, rude people. Argh.

Yes, it's been forever. Sorry. No promises on the next update. Remember, I don't own Star Trek, leave a review to squee over love, and peace until next time.


	25. twenty five

Earth.

Nero clenched and unclenched his hands in his lap, nails biting into calloused skin, leaving crescents dimpled into tanned flesh. He ached for his staff, but with Pike currently unconscious and everyone else actually being of use, there were no suitable targets for him to excise some angry energy on.

Ayel stood a body's length away and to the back-right of him, breathing evenly as he saw the glimmering blue-green planet swell on the main viewscreen. He said nothing as his captain stood and stomped down the podium steps towards the screen, teeth bared, eyes wide and furious.

"Vulcan," Nero muttered. "Earth. Where next, to break the precious Federation? Break them again and again..." He trailed off, hissing, before lashing out and burying his fist into a support strut, leaving crimped metal up to his elbow. "All of them," he mumbled to the twisted wreckage. "Every last one, all of them, they will all die and we will return to a safer universe, safe and free..."

Unperturbed by his captain's madness, Ayel discreetly commed the only medical officer aboard and requested a mild sedative. Nothing to knock Nero out, he would never stoop to mutiny, just something to take the edge off. Something to ease the gaping pit that lay in Nero's mind, ever hungry and never satisfied, if only for a few hours. Long enough to carry out the plan with no insanity making poor decisions.

"Ayel!" Nero barked. The Romulan snapped to attention, stepping forward.

"Sir?"

"Prepare another capsule. When we break orbit, I will extend the drill immediately. If there is any delay between reaching the core and launching..."

The threat was left hanging in the air. Ayel acknowledged the fact, nodded his assent, and strode off towards the lift to the hangar bay, where the _Jellyfish_ and the Red Matter resided. For if he did not... well. As soon as the core was breached, it would be he that was falling toward his doom, followed shortly - perhaps inevitably - by the residents of Earth.

His fate resigned, Ayel said nothing. Nero did not notice, nor did he care.

The time had come. Kirk had escaped his fate by combination of sheer luck and stupidity. He would not escape again. As soon as Earth was destroyed, the _Enterprise_ would follow.

Nero smiled a killer's smile, and returned to his chair to watch his plan unfold in all its genocidal glory.

* * *

Jim sat back in his chair, hands curled around the armrests, the overhead light shining just right to illuminate the horrendous bruise marring his eye and cheek. He bit back a heated response, trying for a calmer approach.

"I told him I'd rescue him when everything was said and done," Jim said through gritted teeth. "So I will. I'm going on the _Narada_."

"Regulation dictates no captain and first officer should ever beam into a known hostile situation where both have a statistically probable chance of being killed," Spock shot back, his own hands folded in his lap. Jim could see the nail marks on his knuckles, though, and wasn't fooled. "I also share ancestry with the Romulan race. It is only logical I go, due to my familiarity with Vulcan spacecraft, as theirs will be similar in layout."

"Screw regulations, and screw your ancestry. I'll be fine by myself." Jim glared and stood, shoving the chair back and stalking to the door. Spock joined him, light and silent on his feet like some overgrown cat, exiting the ready room just slightly ahead of his captain, giving him a measured glance over his shoulder as the door slid shut behind them.

Jim's cheeks flooded, and he resisted the urge to giggle like some insipid schoolgirl as he pinged for a lift.

Still, Spock remained silent, even as they both entered the turbolift and Jim called out for the nearest transporter room.

"Please," Spock said finally, a petulant note creeping in. "You are injured, and should go to the medical facilities. Preferably to stay for the remainder of this mission." His fingers twitched, Jim noted, and after a moment's hesitation Spock stepped closer, brushing shoulders with Jim.

Injured, he was. Ribs cracked, burns, and his black eye were all the big ones, not to mention whatever side effects lingered out of sight from his medical journey to get to the _Enterprise_ in the first place.

Jim smirked, lightly punching Spock on the arm. "If you're going, I have to go," he said softly. His eyes slid from Spock's face to his boots, scuffed and covered in Vulcan dust. "I wouldn't trust anyone to watch your ass other than myself, especially if I want you back in one piece."

This time, when Jim sought eye contact, it was Spock who blushed, green darkening in the tips of his ears until Jim thought they would just plain explode from all the extraneous blood flow. Jim grinned, pleased, and since no one was around, he saw no need to restrain himself as he wrapped one arm around Spock's shoulder, hugging him gently.

The doors beeped insistently, and Jim let go of Spock with a sigh. "Duty calls," he said lazily. "You coming?"

Spock nodded, resolute, and Jim resumed his walking, hearing Spock's measured steps click on the floor just behind him.

Damn, he hadn't felt this great in years. He'd take on the whole Romulan race if he had to, and throw in some angry Klingons just for kicks! All he needed was Spock to look at him that certain way, that smile twinkling in his dark brown eyes, the way his nostrils flared as he silently released an exasperated snort, all for Jim and Jim alone.

Jim stepped through another door, slapping his newest crew member on the back heartily. "Scott! What's our plan?"

The Scotsman huffed, adjusting the red uniform jacket and straightening the comm set in his ear. "Since we're in Titan's atmosphere, Ah'm goin' ter drop yeh down in th' cargo bay," he said, returning his attention to the console in front of him. "Haven't seen somethin' this nice since th' Academy," he muttered, running his fingers lightly up and down the screen.

Jim stepped up onto the transporter pad, watching as Spock did the same, and was struck by a sudden thought. Acutely aware of the heavy brown gaze from next to him, Jim called up Sulu on the comm.

"Sulu here."

"It's Kirk. Sulu, I have some orders for you, and you have to promise you'll follow them." Spock tilted his head, before half-closing his eyes. Jim knew he understood.

"Uh, go on, sir. I promise."

Jim slouched, his voice going quiet. "If you see a chance - I don't care if Pike, Spock, or myself is still aboard, if you see a chance to stop the _Narada_, you take it without hesitation. Do you understand?"

Of course, Jim would do everything in his power to see Spock and Pike off the ship first, at the expense of himself if need be. In fact, he promised himself - even if Pike was dead, Spock would live. He would make sure of it.

Silence, for a long second, and Kirk said sharply, "Do you understand, Mister Sulu?"

Another beat, and finally, a very quiet, "Yes, captain."

"Good." He canceled the communication, returning his attention to Scott, and was just about to give the order to energize when the doors slid open again with a near-silent hiss.

Uhura stepped through, her chin high and eyes flashing. She walked forward, tossed her ponytail over her shoulder, planted her hands on her hips, and snapped to Jim, "If either of you die, I'm going to personally bring you back and kill you _myself_."

Jim gaped, but his surprise (and amusement) were sharply curtailed by the minute shaking of her shoulders and the glimmer of wetness in her eyes. He gave her one of his trademark grins and winked. "No worries," he said confidently. "_Nyota_." Her lips twisted into a grimace as she glared at her captain.

Good. He'd gotten her mind off of the seriousness of the situation and back to being pissed at him. Jim could live with that.

He also supposed he could live with Uhura giving Spock a lightning-quick hug and kiss to the cheek, but just the once, and if she ever tried again he was going to beam her onto Delta Vega. Spock must've felt Jim's metaphorical hackles rising, because he murmured something into her ear and she shot a glance over her shoulder at Jim, eyes widening, before blushing hard and mumbling an apology. A moment later, the doors were nipping at the heels of her boots.

"I apologize," Spock said quietly to Jim. "I will explain at the next opportunity."

"Fair enough," Jim agreed. He looked over to Scott, who had been silent and ceiling-gazing during the last few minutes, and said, bemused, "Ready, Scotty?"

The man jumped, blinking, before coming back to himself and nodding ferociously. "Ah course! Let's get th' show on th' road, boys!" He cracked his knuckles, making Jim wince, and set his fingertips lightly on the touch-sensitive pad before him. "Cargo bay, here yeh go," he said stoutly.

"Energize!"

As the energy began to whip around him in blazing trails of light, Jim caught and held Spock's gaze, smiling softly. He wouldn't want anyone else at his back right now, and he was grateful Spock hadn't tried harder to force him to stay behind.

Darkness engulfed him, and the pair disappeared.

* * *

Spock came back into being at the exact moment Jim did, but he was the first to recognize and react to the threat. Well, more accurately, _threats_.

"Aah!"

Jim's yelp came not from taking a phaser shot to the chest, as Spock initially feared, but from being abruptly tackled and thrown to the grimy floor. The air above the prone pair crackled, stinking of ozone, making the fine hairs on the back of Spock's neck rise from the discharge. Jim huffed, drawing his own phaser.

"Sorry, Jim," Spock said softly, taking in Jim's wheezing pants as he placed one hand gingerly on his abused ribs.

"'S alright."

Spock drew his weapon, firing precisely and stunning three mystified Romulans before they had realized where Jim had disappeared to. Faint patters alerted Spock to the inevitable result of their beaming suddenly into an enemy vessel.

So much for the cargo bay, Spock thought, ducking another burst of energy that would have chewed through his spine and left him immobile but bleeding out on the ground. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing a flicker of movement, and realizing his precarious position - half-crouched next to Jim's slowly moving form - he'd hardly blinked before the charging Romulan was down, a burst of deadly fire catching him directly in the chest.

Jim whistled softly, bring Spock's eyes back to the man's face, where sweat was clearing trails on the dirty face, teeth bared and eyes narrowed. Danger out of immediate reach, Jim visibly stilled, bringing his rage under control, before flashing Spock a cheerful grin and bringing himself to his feet.

"So much for the cargo bay, eh, Spock?" Jim muttered, an eerie echo of Spock's earlier thoughts, crouch-walking until he'd taken sufficient cover behind some alien piece of machinery. "So, Mister I'm-Related-To-The-Crazy-People, where are we?"

"This is not an appropriate time for humor, Jim," Spock said through gritted teeth, fighting his own black hatred down at the thought of sharing any kind of blood with the murderer of his people. A short pause later, Spock admitted, "I am not sure where we are."

Jim nodded to the nearest unconscious body. "Maybe he'd know where Pike is. Meld with him while I try and comm Scotty."

Spock agreed, creeping towards the unmoving lump of flesh and clothing, not bothering to stow his phaser as he placed the pads of his fingers on the locus points of the Romulan. He didn't try to move deeper than basic knowledge; Spock had no wish to learn the life story of one accompanying genocide. He gleaned the knowledge of Pike's location before another piece of information caught his attention.

He broke contact abruptly, hissing a curse between clenched teeth, and stalked over to Jim, who was trying - failing - to make contact with the _Enterprise_.

"It is of no use, Jim," Spock said, wrapping thin fingers around Jim's wrist, bringing the communicator away from his cracked and bloody lips. "Nero has already begun to drill. We are stranded, and Earth is in danger."

Panic clawed his insides, but Spock bent his iron will to the task and refused to let any emotion show on his face. "I know where Pike is, and the location of the device that - that destroyed Vulcan." If his voice broke, Jim did not pay it any mind, allowing Spock a further moment of peace that came with loving someone who was intimately familiar with your mental state.

"Follow me." Spock stood, helping Jim to his feet a second later, quietly told him Pike's location, and took off at a loping jog for the nearest goal: that of the mysterious Red Matter, somehow able to artificially induce black holes, lately in the middle of inhabited planets.

The Romulan he had melded with knew the fastest path to the hangar bay, leading Jim and Spock on a myriad of catwalks and through pipes. Jim muttered angrily behind him about stupid aliens and their inability to use hallways, bringing an unseen smile briefly to Spock's lips before he smoothed his face into impassivity once more.

The narrow tube they had been crawling through opened suddenly into a cavernous space, the ceiling extending hundreds of meters into the air and nearing black in color. Spock did not gape at the size, as Jim did; instead, he focused on the lone object in this hangar, moving towards it quickly.

It was a ship. Spock took a quick run-around, taking in the size, make, and materials used before slowly moving up the extended docking ramp, Jim hot on his heels.

The inside was crisp and clean, flooded with light and crammed full of consoles. Spock moved to the lone chair near the viewport, brushing one of the many touchscreens nearby.

"Welcome, Spock," a mechanical voice said out of nowhere, making Spock twitch violently and Jim jump a half-foot into the air, slamming his elbow into a corner. As he hopped about, grabbing his arm and cursing, Spock spun in a tight circle.

"Computer," he said, "state date of production and construction benefactors."

"The _Jellyfish_ was officially launched on Stardate 2387, commissioned, funded, and constructed by the Vulcan Science Academy."

"Purpose?"

"The safe and fast transport of Red Matter."

Spock whirled in place to see the color drain from Jim's face, as his too-blue eyes sought Spock's.

"I assume you understand why this ship is here?" Spock said shortly. Jim held up his hands, as if to ward off a physical blow.

"I can explain, when we have a sec. Please." Jim stepped forward, hand coming up to thread through Spock's short hair and bring their foreheads to touch. "I know you can put the pieces together anyway," he said quietly. "But right now, we have a lot of people depending on us, and I'm sorry that you have to wait."

Jim pressed a brief, chaste kiss to Spock's lips, winked, and darted out of the little ship's interior before the shock had worn off, leaving Spock blinking.

"That man," Spock said into the silence, "will inevitably be the death of me."

With that, he sat in the command chair, mind whirling with possibilities and design schematics.

* * *

Everything hurt. He ached in more places than he'd ever thought he could, which was really saying something considering his effed up childhood. But the worst was the near-physical clenching in his chest as he left Spock behind, knowing with all his heart that he might not see Spock ever again.

At least he'd finally accepted the truth that had been staring him in the face since he'd fled Vulcan all those years ago. He loved Spock, and if it wasn't as natural as breathing, Jim would gladly go find the nearest amphibious planet and call it home.

Spock's whispered directions came to mind, then, as Jim ducked beneath a low-hanging tube of some sort, and only in that moment did he realize exactly how wickedly awful his luck was, because he _stupidly _had stowed his phaser not a moment earlier and was now horizontal, head drumming with pain and stars exploding behind his lids.

Nero's face loomed over him, grabbing the collar of his shirt and hauling him up with no grunt of effort, leaving his toes just brushing the ground as he scrabbled to find purchase and fight back.

"James Kirk," Nero growled, shaking him.

Jim was not going to admit he was terrified, but the catwalks were so _narrow_ and another Romulan had appeared from nowhere to remove the phaser from his holster and was tossing it into the black bowels, where he was sure to follow in mere moments-

"I remember your face," Nero whispered, his voice gravel, eyes sunken into his head and gleaming like stars in velvet night. "I remember hearing praises sung to you from all races across the galaxy. James T. Kirk, captain of the _Enterprise_ and beloved by the Federation." Nero took a step closer to the edge, and Jim's toes were no longer brushing metal, only air.

"I deprived your father of the life history claimed him to have," Nero said simply. "And now I will do the same to you. Good bye."

In desperation, Jim lashed out, catching Nero in the ribs with the tip of his boot. Wheezing, Nero folded inward, bringing Jim away from the precarious edge, allowing him just enough leeway to twist and slip out of the Romulan's grip. He followed up quickly with an axe kick, hoping to knock Nero unconscious, or break his neck.

The other Romulan - and damn Jim for losing track! - caught his heel and flung Jim away, sending the man sprawling onto an adjacent metal platform, gasping. Jim scrambled to his feet, panic pounding adrenaline through his system, and as he finally steadied himself the other Romulan was there, a fist aimed square at his face.

Jim traded blows with the alien as Nero watched, something like amusement stretching his face into an unfamiliar grin. Jim could feel the fatigue beginning to take its toll as he ducked the blow a second to slow and it clipped his already-injured eye, sending white-hot sparks of pain across his face and instinctively curling his hands up to protect from further injury.

And before he could blink, he was pinned to the ground, Nero's face inches from his own, as his air supply began to dwindle and the painful pressure around his throat began to grow. Black spots swarmed in his vision, and Jim was so painfully sure that he was going to die seeing this mockery of a grin when the ground beneath him rumbled and a voice called out, panicked, "Captain! The drill's been destroyed! It's Spock, he's taken the _Jellyfish_!"

Nero's face slackened. A moment later, it was twisted in rage as he climbed off of Jim, howling, "_Spock!_" He gestured to the other Romulan, barking orders in his native tongue before leaping an impressive ten meters to the parallel catwalk and taking off at a dead sprint.

Oxygen flooded Jim's lungs, but he'd barely gathered enough in for a breath before the other Romulan was there, hands locked around his throat, but this was the combination of his worst nightmares, as Jim was again lifted off his feet and left dangling over the open void below. Terror beat heavy wings within his chest, making his heart pound; worse yet, he was choking, again.

"Humans are so weak," the Romulan hissed. His markings were different, Jim noted uselessly, but there was one detail he'd overlooked. Jim croaked a meaningless word, one hand locked on a pair of wrists as the other inched towards his last possible hope.

Jim struggled some more, ignoring the burning bands around his lungs that pleaded for air, even trying to kick the Romulan as he had Nero, but the element of surprise and underestimation was gone, and the Romulan simply bore the weak blow. Jim gurgled again.

"You can't even speak, now, can you?" the being said humorlessly. "Pathetic." Just an inch away, he could barely brush it-

-a gift from some divine figure, as the Romulan drew him in closer, loosening the deadly pressure on his windpipe. "Try again," he hissed.

Jim smirked, locked his grip around the Romulan's phaser, and said nastily, "I got your gun." A smooth yank, his finger pulled the trigger almost before he'd gotten it out of the holster, but the Romulan went down with a smoking hole in his gut, falling backwards and down, body still and cooling on the bronze metal bridge.

His legs collapsed from underneath him, Jim was thankful he hadn't landed on the edge, because surely he'd be toast by now, given what little strength his body felt like it had left. Groaning, Jim took one moment to breathe, thankful for his continuing life and continued chance to protect the people he loved - one in particular - before forcing himself to his feet and taking off in the direction of Pike, stolen phaser still in hand.

Meeting the captain who'd ordered him dead when he was nothing more than a child must've run out his bad luck for the century, Jim decided as he limped towards where Spock had said Pike was, because he saw no more Romulans en route, and he was ever thankful for that, because he was about as much a threat to one of them as a bug was to himself.

Jim noticed the water, first. It seemed strange to have a depression in the middle of a ship, even worse to let the condensation collect, but the smell that hit his nose moments after was enough to make him retch. He wiped the tears from his eyes, covered his nose with his collar, and pressed forward, hoping it wouldn't be as bad as he thought it was.

So much for that, Jim decided, running his fingers over the catches in the straps and easing them from swollen flesh. Pike's uniform was in tatters, ripped and bloody, and the man himself was barely conscious, eyes flickering under half-closed lids and lips cracked and beading with blood.

"Captain Pike, it's alright," Jim whispered, smoothing sweaty hair from the man's forehead. "I'm just following orders, I came to get you, we're going right back to the _Enterprise_ and we'll get you all fixed up-"

Trembling fingers snatched the phaser from his hand and fired two shots over his shoulder; Jim swallowed, looking at the suddenly alert man, who stowed the deadly device in Jim's holster after a dull thud was heard.

"You were distracted, Kirk," Pike said wearily. "Don't be so again."

"Yes, sir," Jim said warmly. "Up you go. We should be fine to beam out." Jim heaved Pike into his arms, refusing to think about how disturbingly light the man was, and fished his communicator out of his pocket, somehow managing to juggle it up near his face.

"Scotty?!" Jim half-shouted as another explosion nearly forced him off his feet. Pike winced in his arms, gritting his teeth.

It was fuzzy, but there was a response, which meant the drill really was down, though by Nero's ferocity at the news he wondered how he'd doubted it.

"Aye, Captain!"

"Beam us out, now!"

Jim could see flashes of movement around him, streaks of light from sweaty bald brows reflecting in the darkness outside Pike's torture chamber. Jim almost buckled as another explosion rocked the _Narada_ to its depths, nearly dropping Pike, who just groaned in pain as Jim clutched him tighter, aggravating fresh wounds.

Faint sputters were beginning to circle him, but the Romulans had found him, and his time was rapidly running out. Jim closed his eyes, calm tamping down the panic of moments before, as he fixed an image of Spock in his mind. If he truly was going to die now, than he could and would die content in the mistake he had rectified only hours before.

The sound of harsh energy discharging rang in Jim's ears. He heard the buzzing of the transporter beam fire in the same moment.

In the next, Jim Kirk knew no more.

* * *

_Earlier_

Everything was bright. Bright and harsh and Jim had kissed him again and he was in this ship that came from the future, which held ten thousand implications he couldn't even begin to think about, because he had to escape and save a planet.

If Spock were any less capable of handling stress, he'd have curled into a ball in the command chair and wept. As it was, he steeled himself, made a silent promise that he would not count that kiss as his last from Jim, and said coolly, "Computer, activate ignition sequence."

The ship practically purred beneath him, responding to his feather-light touches almost before he made them. Letting a breath snake out between his teeth, Spock eased back the controls, reaching out to wind up the docking ramp in the same fluid motion. This ship was unlike any he'd ever seen before, but once he'd figured out the pattern, he was confident in his abilities to pilot it successfully.

A crackle of energy registered on one of the aft shields; Spock flipped the ship on its axis to face the source, finding a lone Romulan and powering his phaser banks in warning. The being dropped its gun, fleeing into the darkness of the corridor, and Spock allowed himself a brief flash of grim satisfaction before he again tamped it down in favor of performing his duty.

He could barely feel the rotation of the ship as he pressed down on the thrusters, which amazed him. He wanted to sit and tinker with everything in front of him, and then he wanted to take it all apart and study it further. More than anything, he wanted Jim with him, where Spock could see him, and keep him safe.

Brows furrowed, he fired into the empty space inside the massive ship, seeing sparks flare and explosions dislodge equipment from various precarious positions. Spock coaxed more speed from the little vessel, cutting himself a path through machinery until he burst through the hull into space.

Spock did not stop to look in wonder at the blue-green, cloud-marbled planet beneath him, nor did tears spring to his eyes at the thought of never seeing his home from this view again. Instead, he tightened his grip on the controls and brought the _Jellyfish_ into a looping dive that broke through the thick atmosphere of Earth.

Accelerating, hearing the whine of the charged phaser banks and the rumble of engines beneath his feet, he glanced to his side to locate his target.

There, on the telescoping screen, was the drill that had confused the _Enterprise_ long enough to drill straight to the core of Vulcan. Huge bouts of steam were rising from the plasma pouring into the waters of the bay. Spock swung low, coming around to approach from the angle that would result in the least amount of damage for bystanders, and poured phaser-fire at the spindly device.

He had to remind himself that the first shots always missed, given that the computer had yet to rectify their forward and angular momentum with their approach vector. He remembered that fact, and did not clench his hands on the control unit, did not trap air in his lungs as he waited to make contact.

Finally, it did. Blue streaks tore through the metal, plasma sputtering and dying as the drilling unit was separated from its power source and sent spinning into the waters below. Spock allowed himself to be prideful for a moment before pulling up, blasting out of the atmosphere and aiming for the mass of the _Narada_still hovering in orbit.

His comm crackled. On the screen to his left, Nero's face appeared, twisted with rage.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance," he whispered. "I should have ordered him to kill you that day, and Kirk as well."

His words were low and ugly, something Spock paid no heed to. "I order you to surrender yourself and your vessel to the United Federation of Planets," Spock forced through clenched teeth. "I have taken the _Jellyfish_ into custody. If you refuse, I will use force."

Nero seemed oblivious to his words; he had neglected to turn off the comm, but still shouted orders to his crew. "_Kill him! Launch everything, kill Spock! NOW!_"

With one hand, Spock entered a set of coordinates for the nearest section of open space with no planets in the sector. He closed his eyes, and punched the warp drive to life, feeling the microscopic whiplash as he was transported near-instantly to his place of choice.

Spock cracked his eyes open as warning sirens shrieked around him, turning his stately blue cockpit the color of human blood. He glanced at the warning screen and bit back a curse.

Missiles. Too many for him to outrun, and too many to maneuver around. Even one making contact would tear the ship apart, and worse yet, release the Red Matter into open space.

No. That wouldn't do. The plan fell neatly into place, as if it had always been there, pieces fitting together in Spock's mind to form a whole puzzle, solved.

He whipped the little ship in an about-face, spinning around the first burst of fire, reflexes screaming as he narrowly dodged the second set-

-only to see the third destroyed some distance away, and a massive white battleship ping into being on his radar. Spock nearly could have cried at his fortune, because with the _Enterprise_ at his back, he felt invincible. He had destroyed the drill and drew the _Narada_ away from Earth, Jim's home, and Jim was undoubtedly aboard with Pike safely in the medical facilities.

Spock pondered his curious mental reaction - indeed, he felt as though Nero was defeated already, though they had done nothing more than disarm his greatest weapon - for a split second before realigning his ship on its intended course.

"Collision course detected, Spock. Breach of the Red Matter containment unit will result in catastrophic singularity formation."

He could feel Jim's panic beat a staccato rhythm just above his left ear, where he always felt Jim at his most emotional.

"Yes, computer, understood."

He pulled power from the phaser banks and poured it into the thrusters of the little craft. His ship - for it was his ship, or rather, his future self's ship - screamed as it blasted through open space, heading for the heart of the spiny monstrosity.

"Collision in ten seconds."

"Come in, _Enterprise_," Spock commed, "prepare to beam me aboard."

He could see his planet, being pulled into a lightning storm, he could hear the billions of voices cry out in agony and then cut silent, as if he were aboard the bridge once more, witnessing the destruction of Vulcan anew. He could see his mother's face as she dropped off the ledge and the fear that sank poison fangs into his heart as he waited on the transporter pad for Jim and Amanda to return, alive, despite the dire circumstances.

He could see Jim's trusting face, open, with the love Spock himself had felt since he was a teenager shining from the depths of his blue eyes, feel the graze of chapped lips on his own as he let Jim leave, knowing he might not be seen alive again.

"Collision in two seconds."

Spock closed his eyes, feeling the energy around him, and disappeared.

* * *

Jim was there the moment Spock was beamed back aboard, and he was also not watching the results of Spock's suicide run, because utter terror had seized him when the alert had come up from the bridge, and damn his captain duties, Spock was _trying to kill himself_.

_Collision course detected..._

But Spock was there, eyes shut, face calm, and Jim nearly tackled the man off the pad in his exuberance.

"You're alive," Jim breathed. "Oh, you're alive."

Spock glanced down at the man currently trying to split him in two, if he were to judge by the amount of force put in the hug. Spock settled for a restrained pat on Jim's back, given the company of the rogue Jim had acquired from Delta Vega (standing there gaping, how human).

"Of course. I had no intention of being onboard when the _Jellyfish _made contact."

Neither mentioned how, exactly, Spock would have gone about that, had Jim not brought an entire ship with him in a desperate gambit to secure Spock's continued existence. There was no need to, because they were there, alive, and they still had a very large problem to deal with.

"If I understand the Red Matter correctly," Spock said, pushing Jim gently away and stepping off the transporter pad, "it will be forming a singularity large enough to engulf the _Narada_ as we speak."

Jim nodded briskly, running a hand through his hair and nodding his gratitude to the still-gaping Scott as they took off for the bridge. They said nothing as they jogged through hallways and found the nearest lift, the only silence broken as Jim spoke their destination to the computer.

Spock stared at Jim. Jim reciprocated. In the quiet of battles past and more yet to come, they relished the other's presence, thankful beyond words neither were seriously injured.

The doors slid open, spilling the pair onto the bridge, where controlled chaos reigned. Navigation were furiously calculating the reach of the developing black hole, as others not as currently busy stared, open-mouthed, at the growing patch of lightning-swathed darkness chewing through the _Narada_.

"Uhura," Jim called, tugging his shirt down a bit and moving to the center of the expansive bridge, turned to the viewscreen. "Send out a comm to the _Narada._ Alert me when we're connected."

"Aye." A moment passed, no more than a brief time for a breath, before she said, "On screen, Captain."

This, Jim thought with vindictive pleasure, was the moment he had dreamed of since Vulcan was destroyed. No, even before he knew who Nero was; the day his family was murdered in their beds, one cool night when he was only ten. Behind him, Spock reached out and brushed his palm with two fingers, a silent gesture of support they both knew he needed.

The _Narada_ was doomed. The Red Matter was destroyed, all used in the formation of the singularity, and the futuristic _Jellyfish_ along with it. Here stood Spock and James Kirk, survivors of Nero's murderous rampage, having accomplished everything Nero had set for them to fail. They defied the future he tried to craft, and now it was time to make him pay.

"James T. Kirk and Spock," Nero spat.

Jim smirked.

"Hello, Nero..."

* * *

**A/N:** This story is not abandoned. That being said, I have no clue when the next chapter will be. Hopefully not two years from now.

Credit to KaiiDee23 for inspiring me after a long time of not writing. Thanks. :)

Peace.


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